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I 
; 


DUKE 

UNIVERSITY 

LIBRARY 


Treasure  %oom 


THE 


CABINET  OF  MOMUSJ 

^         _  —  — 

A  CHOICE  SELECTION 


OF 


HUMOROUS  POEMS, 


FROM 


PINDAR,  DIBDIN,  COLMAN, 

IENEAU,  PE3WARNE,  HOPKINSON, 

U)D,  HUMPHREYS,  HARRISON, 

VTFT,  TAYLOR,  PITT,  &c.  8cc. 


EMBELL ISHED  WITH  SIX  ENGRA  VIA  VS 


COPY  RIGHT  SECURED, 


PUBLISHED  BY  MATHEW  CAREY, 

NO.   122,  MARKET  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA 

PRINTED   BY  A.  SMALL. 


1809. 


DISTRICT  OF  PENNSYLVANIA,  to  wit  : 

********  BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  That  on  the  twenty- 
*  l.  s.  *  first  day  of  November,  in  the  thirty-fourth  year 
********  of  the  Independence  of  the  United  States  of 
America,  A.  D.  1809,  Mathew  Carey  of  the  said  District, 
hath  deposited  in  this  Office,  the  Title  of  a  Book  the  right 
whereof  he  claims  as  proprietor,  in  the  words  following1, 
to  wit : 

"The  Cabinet  of  Momus  ;  a  choice  selection  of  humor- 
ous Poems,  from  P.  Pindar,  Dibdin,  Colman,  Freneau,  Pen- 
warne,  Hopkinson,  Ladd,  Humphreys,  Harrison,  Swift,  Tay- 
lor, Pitt,  &c.  &c.     Embellished  with  six  Engravings.'* 

In  conformity  to  the  act  of  Congress  of  the  United  States, 
intitled,  "  An  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by 
securing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  au- 
thors and  proprietors  of  such  copies  during  the  times  therein 
mentioned."  And  also  to  the  act,  entitled  "  An  act  supple- 
mentary to  an  act,  entitled,  "  An  act  for  the  encouragement 
of  learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts,  and 
books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies  during 
the  time  therein  mentioned,"  and  extending  the  benefits 
thereof  to  the  arts  of  designing,  engraving,  and  etching 
historical  and  other  prints." 

D.  CALDWELL, 
Clerk  of  the  District  of  Pennsvlvania. 


en  5 

PREFACE. 

AN  old  merry  philosopher  bequeathed  to 
posterity  a  very  sage  piece  of  advice...  JfoWc,  si 
sapis.... which,  being  rendered  into  plain  vernacu- 
lar language,  means. ...Laugh,  if  you  are  wise. 

Being  a  great  admirer  of  this  illustrious  sage, 
I  have  employed  some  of  my  leisure  moments  to 
collect  materials  to  enable  my  fellow  citizens  to 
follow  his  useful  prescription,  and  hope  they 
will  have  the  very  salutary  effect  of  proving  the 
wisdom  of  the  reader,  by  impelling  him  to  the 
free  and  unlimited  use  of  his  risible  faculties. 

If  it  be  true,  as  Homer,  or  Hesiod,  or  Plu- 
tarch, or  Phsedrus,  or  some  other  ancient  said, 
or  intended  to  say,  or  ought  to  have  said,  that 
every  time  a  man  heaves  a  sigh,  he  drives  a  nail 
into  his  coffin ;  it  may,  I  hope  and  trust,  be  as- 
sumed that  every  time  he  indulges  in  merriment 
he  draws  a  nail  out.  This  collection  then,  I  fond- 
ly flatter  myself,  cannot  fail  to  be  acceptable  to 
all  my  fellow  citizens,  except  the  worthy  frater- 
nities of  coffin-makers  and  nailors,  whom  I  most 
respectfully  solicit  to  pardon  me  for  this  interfer- 
ence with  their  best  interests  * 


4l^l(>3 


IV  PREFACE. 

Should  they  find  this  little  collection  prove  very 
injurious  to  their  accumulation  of  pelf,  I  advise 
them  (as  a  friend)  to  disseminate  as  large  a  num- 
ber as  possible  of  "  THE  MISERIES  OF  HU- 
MAN LIFE,"  by  way  of  counteraction. 

MOMUS,  JUN. 

Philadelphia,  Decferriber  1,  1809. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 


NO  Tricks  upon  Travellers,           -  -             1 

Country  Bumpkin  and  the  Razor  seller,  -       4 

Mklas's  Second  Mistake,  6 

The  Newcastle  Apothecary,     -             -  8 

Whimsical  Mal-Entendu,              -  -              11 

A  Medicine  for  the  Ladies,      -           -  12 

Battle  of  the  Kegs,            -               -  -              14 

New  England  Sabbath-day  Chase,       -  17 

The  Boys  and  the  Frogs,  20 

The  Bat  and  the  Weasels,      -              -  -       2 1 

Epitaph  on  an  old  Horse,  22 

A  King  and  a  Brick-maker,     -  -       23 

Two  Blanks  to  a  Prize,     -             -  -             25 

Humanity  and  Ingratitude,      -             -  -       26 
The  Monkey  who  shaved  himself  and  his  frie  nds,    29 

The  Sportsman  in  Style,         -             -  30 

Monsieur  Tonson,             -             -  -              31 

Lodgings  for  Single  Gentlemen,         -  -       36 

Adventures  of  Young  Whipstitch,  -             38 

Epigram  (A  drunken  Scot)        -  -       40 
Parody  on  Romeo's  description  of  an  Apothecary,    4 1 


VI  CONTENTS. 

The  Apple  Dumplings  and  a  King,     -  -      42 

The  Almanac  Maker,  43 

The  Indian  Convert,       -                       -  -       45 

Monsieur  Kaniferstane,     -             -  -             46 

The  Toper  and  the  Flies,       -             -  49 

The  Pettifogger  ;  or  Fee  Simple,  Esq.  -             50 

Patience,         -              -              -              -  51 

Epigram  on  the  death  of  a  noted  Knave,     -  53 

The  Segar,         -                       -             -  54 

Verses  on  the  Crew  of  a  Vessel,  -              ib. 

Ann ;  or  the  Graces,     -           -             -  55 

Catch,  to  a  Company  of  Bad-fiddlers,  -             ib. 

Epigram,  (I '11  tell  thee  dear  girl)       -  56 

The  Suicide,         -  ib. 
The  Plymouth  Carpenter  and  the  Coffins,       -       57 

Lines  over  the  door  of  John  Grove,  -             59 

The  Forest  Beau,         -  ib. 

The  Royal  Sheep,  60 

The  Tinker  and  Glazier,         -              -  64 

A  Matrimonial  Dialogue,               -  -             67 

Susan  and  the  Spider,             -             -  69 

The  Simple  Truth  most  simply  told,  -             70 

The  Jewess  and  her  Son,       -             -  71 

Epsom  Races,  72 

Murphy  Delaney,        -              -              -  -75 

The  Owl  and  the  Parrot,     -          -  -  ~           76 

Diamond  cut  Diamond,           -             -  78 

Modes  of  Courtship,          -             -  -             ib. 

Giles  Scroggins  Ghost,           -             -  80 

Lubin  and  the  Dentist,      -             -  -             81 
Miss  Deborah  Diddle,  and  Sir  Gilbert  Gosoftly,      82 

John  Doe  and  Richard  Roe,      -  83 

Kitty  Maggs  and  Jolter  Giles,  84 

Epigram,  (As  Thomas  was  cudgelFd)  -       85 

Lord  B.  and  the  Eunuch,      -  -             86 

The  Female  Prattler,     -                       -  89 

Epigram  (As  Quin  and  Foote)      -  -             ib. 

A  Court  Audience,      -  90 


CONTENTS.  Vli 

The  Avaro,  90 
The  Mistake,               ....       ib. 

The  Tender  Husband,      -             -  -             9  i 

On  a  Bad  Singer,        -             -             -  94 

Epigram  (Upon  some  hasty  errand)  -             ib. 

On  a  Bowl  of  Punch,               -  ib. 

Epigram,  (says  a  beau  to  a  lady)     -  -             95 

The  Lawyer  and  Client,          -  ib. 

Sir  Joseph  Banks  and  the  Thief-takers,     -  ib. 

A  Description  of  London,      -             -  -       98 

The  Earl  of  Peterborough  and  the  Mob,     -  99 

The  Gentleman  and  his  Wife,            -  -     100 

Justification,         -              -              -  -              102 

An  Irish  Blunder  without  a  Bull,     -  -       103 

Bienseance,          -             -             -  -              104 

An  Anatomical  Epitaph  on  an  Invalid,  -         ib. 

The  Pig  and  the  Magpie,            -  -             105 

A  Country  Quarter  Sessions,  -        106 

Epitaph  on  a  Blacksmith,              -  -               ib. 

The  First  Pair,         -             -             -  -       107 

The  Thought;  or  a  Song  of  Similies,  -               ib. 

The  Astronomer's  Room,      -             -  -       108 

The  Fly  and  the  Spider,               -  -             109 

A  Tale,          ....  110 

Poverty  and  Poetry,         -             -  >              \\\ 

Visit  of  a  King  to  a  Cathedral,          -  -       112 

The  Doctor  and  his  Apprentice,  -              114 

On  the  Death  of  a  Blacksmith,         -  -       H6 

The  Well  of  St.  Keyne,               -  -             117 

The  Fakenham  Ghost,          -             -  -        118 

Report  of  an  Adjudged  Case,      -  -             121 

Canute  and  the  Ocean,           -              -  -        122 

The  Brewer's  Coachman,             -  -             124 

Repartee,         -                        -             .  -         ib. 

Curiosity,             -             -             .  _             125 

Disappointed  Husband,         -             .  -       126 

Ode  to  a  Margate  Hoy,      -           -  _             127 

The  Boy  and  the  Baker,         -           -  -       129 

The  Old  Cheese,             -            -  .            !  30 


Mil  CONTENTS. 

Epigram,  (A  stingy  fellow)     -     *  -             -       132 

A  College  story,      -         -            *  -              id. 

The  Ant  and  the  Grasshopper,  -             -       133 

The  Peasant  and  his  Ass,             -  -             134 

The  Indian  Convert,              -  -                    135 

The  Clown's  Reply,        -            -  -             136 


CABINET  OF  MOMUS. 


NO  TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS 

A  TALE.  (  p  e  NWAJt  n  k  : 

A.  CORNISH  Miner,  high  in  wrestling  fame, 
And  Thomas  Triggyniggy  was  his  name : 

To  London  city  Tom  would  fain  be  packing: 
In  hardy  enterprise  no  lad  was  bolder; 
He  threw  his  trusty  staff  across  his  shoulder, 

And  hung  his  wardrobe  on  it  in  a  nackin* 

The  journey  was  a  long  one  to  be  sure  ; 

But  Tom  was  hardy,  and  could  much  endure: 
And  so  he  was  resolv'd  to  have's  end, 
And  undermine  the  Thames,  at  Gravesend: 

That  deefi-laid  scheme  which  cockney  artists  gravels  : 

So  vent'rous  Tom  set  out  upon  his  travels. 

The  weary  way  he  cheer'd  with  many  a  song; 
Or  whistled  careless  as  he  jogg'd  along: 
Till  he  the  mighty  City  'gan  to  approach ; 

*  Handkerchief. 

B 


2  NO  TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS. 

But  now  he  ceas'd  to  be  so  cheery, 

The  night  was  dark  and  Tom  was  weary; 

When  soon  he  saw  and  loudly  haii'd  a  coach: 
"  Hoa! — Maister  Coachman,  have'e  room  for  me? 

"  Can'st  taak  a  body  in  that's  mighty  tired  ?" 
"  Yes" — replied  Coachee — "  I  have  only  three:" 

The  price  agreed  for.  soon  the  place  was  hired. 
'Twas  pitchy  dark,  Tom  could  not  see  a  face  ; 
But  'twixt  tnvo  ftassejigers  he  took  his  place. 

Tom  was  a  social  fellow — lov'd  to  chatter, 
And  what  the  subject  was,  was  no  great  matter; 
"  Eh,  goils  1"  says  Tom,  "  in  such  a  night  as  this, 
u  This  warm  frieze-coat  of  yours  is  not  amiss; 
"  Be  sleaping  Maister — may  I  be  so  bold?" 
Tom  shook  him,  but  he  only  growl'd. 

A  man  who  sat  Tom's  vis-a-vis, 
Now  spoke — "  Why  look  ye,  Sir  d'ye  see, 
"  That  Gem'man  there,  must  needs  be  dumb, 
"  Because  from  Russia  he's  but  lately  come, 

"  And  cannot  talk  our  English  lingo: 
"  I  am  the  Tutor,  Sir,  to  that  young  lad, 
"  The  Russian's  Nephew,  and  sure  man  ne'er  had 

"  A  wickeder  young  rogue  to  teach,  by  jingo" 

"  Why,  Sir,"  says  Tom,  "  'tis  my  belief, 

"  The  Nephew  is  a  little  thief; 

"  Ave  sloal'd  away  my  tatexj  pasty;* 

"  Sich  tricks  mjunsters^  Sir,  be  nasty; 

"  And  efa.  worn't  a  cheeld,  as  I  may  saay, 

M  Id  throw  mun  out  of  winder  in  the  waay" 

But  now  the  crazy  vehicle  stood  still, 

Whilst  Coachee  turn'd  about, 

And  begg'd  the  Gem11  men  to  get  out, 
And  ease  his  tired  cattle  up  the  hill: 

No  sooner  said  than  done, 

Each  descended — one  and  one. 

*  Potatoe  past}-. 


1 

SI 


?N 


V. 


NO  TRICKS  UPOX  TRAVELLERS. 

And  now  along  the  road  they're  walking, 

Of  this,  and  that  thing,  busy  talking ; 

Tom  felt  his  Cornish  spirits  rising ; 

Spoke  of  his  wrestling  as  surprising : 

The  other  cried — "  if  that's  your  sort, 

u  My  Russian  friend  can  show  you  sport; 

"  He  practises  the  Cornish  hug ; 

u  Knows  skilful  how  to  turn  to  hifi  ;* 
"  Giving  your  heels  the  cleanest  trip, 

u  Will  lay  you  on  your  back  so  snug." 

«  Will  'a"?  quoth  Tom,  "  ef  Sir,  you'll  caal 

u  And  make  the  Coachman  stop — we'll  try  a  faal ; 

"  For  tho'  'tis  dark,  and  we  can't  sec, 

"  Yet  'tis  as  vair  for  him  as  me." 

Now  matters  being  settl'd  thus, 
Thomas  approach'd  the  rugged  Russ, 
Who  seiz'd  him  quickly  round  the  waist ; 
And  grip'd  him  hard,  and  held  him  fast; 
Both  came  together  to  the  ground, 
Away  they  roll'd  with  many  a  bound, 

Down  o'er  a  pretty  steep  declivity; 
While  the  sly  Tutor  scamper'd  after, 
Ready  to  burst  his  sides  with  laughter : 

And  had  he  not  with  great  activity 
Step'd  to  their  aid,  and  timely  stop'd  'em, 
Into  a  gravel  pit  they'd  pop'd  'em. 
He  rais'd  our  hero  from  the  ground; 

And—"  hop'd,  his  friend — the  Russian  there," 
(Making  a  formal  bow  profound) 

"  Had,  like  a  Gem' man,  play' 'd  him  fair'' 
u  Why, — in  his  way — I  must  allow 
"  The  Gentleman  play'd  vair  enow; 
"  But  lord! — sich  strength  before  I  never  feel'd  ; 

"  Why,  es  a  Liant  I  i  f 
"  A  hugg'd  me  up—- -as  tho/ivor  a  cheeld, 

"  And  he  a  Giant !  I 

•  A  term  made  use.  of  amongst  wrestlers,      f  Lion. 


4  THE  COUNTRY  BUMPKIN 

But  now  the  day  began  to  dawn, 

And  gild  the  dew  drops  on  the  lawn; 

When  Tom  look'd  round  him,  with  staring  eyes 

Expressing  wonder  and  surprise  ; 

Saying — "  kind  Gentlemen  I  thonk  ye;" 

For  now  did  Thomas  see  most  clear, 

His  late  antagonist a  Bear  ! 

The  Pickpocket a  Monkey  ! 

u  Thicks  upon  Travellers — wont  do  for  me  I 
"  So  now,  my  friend,  I'll  have  a  bout  with  thee:'' 
Then  seiz'd  the  Bear-ward  by  the  middle, 
As  tho'  no  heavier  than  his  fiddle  : 

kW  D'ye  sarve  me  so  you  son  o'  bitch  i" 
Then  giving  him  the  Jiying  mare,* 
And  raising  off  the  ground  quite  clear, 

He  sous'd  him  in  a  muddy  ditch. 

"  Lie  there,"  quoth  Tom,  "  you  fiddling  lout, 
';  Your  Russian  Friend  may  help  you  cut ; 
"  And  lam  henceforth  that  Lunmui  jokes, 
"  Are  dangerous  things  with  Cornish  folks. 

*   A  wrestling*  term. 


THE  COUNTRY  BUMPKIN  AND  THE 
RAZOR-SELLER. 

(pindar.) 

Jl  ORBEAR,  my  friends,  to  sacrifice  your  fame 
To  sordid  gain,  unless  that  you  are  starving! 

I  own,  that  hunger  will  indulgence  claim, 
For  hard  stone  heads,  and  landscape -carving, 

In  order  to  make  haste  to  sell  and  eat; 
For  there  is  certainly  a  charm  in  meat : 
And  in  rebellious  tones,  will  stomachs  speak. 
That  have  not  tasted  victuals  for  a  week, 


AND  THE  RAZOR-SELLER.  o 

But  yet  there  are  a  mercenary  crew, 

Who  value  fame,  no  more  than  an  old  shoe ; 

Provided,  for  their  daubs  they  get  a  sale  ; 

Just  like  the  man but,  stay — I'll  tell  the  tale  ; 

A  fellow,  in  a  market  town, 

Most  musical,  cry'd  razors  up  and  down, 

And  offer'd  twelve  for  eighteen  pence ; 
Which  certainly  seem'd  wond'rous  cheap, 
And,  for  the  money,  quite  a  heap, 

As  ev'ry  man  would  buy,  with  cash  and  sense. 

A  country  Bumpkin  the  great  offer  heard ; 

Poor  Hodge,  who  suffer'd  by  a  broad  black  beard, 

That  seem'd  a  shoe-brush,  stuck  beneath  his  nose  : 
With  cheerfulness,  the  eighteen  pence  he  paid; 
And  proudly  to  himself,  in  whispers,  said  : 

"  This  rascal  stole  the  razors,  I  suppose." 

"  No  matter,  if  the  fellow  be  a  knave, 
u  Provided  that  the  razors  shave  ; 

"  It  certainly  will  be  a  monstrous  firize." 
So  home  the  clown,  with  his  good  fortune,  went — 
Smiling — in  heart  and  soul,  content — 

And  quickly  soap'd  himself,  to  ears  and  eyes. 

Being  well  lathered,  from  a  dish  or  tub, 
Hodge  now  began,  with  grinning  pain,  to  grub  ; 

Just  like  a  hedger  cutting  furze. 
'Twas  a  vile  razor ! — then  the  rest  he  try'd — 
All  were  impostors  I — "  AbJ."  Hodge  sigh'd, 

"  I  wish  my  eighteen  pence  were  in  my  purse  I" 

In  vain,  to  chase  his  beard,  and  bring  the  graces, 
He  cut,  and  dug,  and  winc'd,  and  stamp'd,  and 

swore  ; 
Brought  blood,  and  danc'd,  blasphem'd,  and  made 

wry  faces ; 
And  curs'd  each  razor's  body,  o'er  and  o'er  : 

b  2 


o  MIDAS'S  SECOND  MISTAKE 

His  muzzle,  form'd  of  opposition  stuff, 
Firm  as  a  Foxitc,  would  not  lose  its  ruff; 

So  kept  it — laughing  at  the  steel  and  suds. 
Hodee,  in  a  passion,  stretch'd  Ids  angry  jaws, 
Vowing  the  direst  vengeance,  with  clench'd  claws. 

On  the  vile  cheat,  that  sold  the  goods — 
"  Razors! — (a  damn'd,  confounded  dog!^ — 
"  Not  fit  to  scrape  a  hog!" 

Hodge  sought  the  fellow — found  him,  and  begun-— 
"  P'rhaps,  Master  Razor-rogue,  to  you  'tis  fun, 

u  That  people  flay  themselves  cut  of  their  lives ! 
"  You  rascal! — for  an  hour,  have  Ibeen  grubbing, 
"  Giving  my  scoundrel  whiskers  here  a  scrubbing, 

M  With  razors,  just  like  oyster-knives. 
i;  Sirrah  !  I  tell  you,  you're  a  knave, 
"  To  cry  up  razors,  that  can't  shave  .'" 

;C  Friend,  (quoth  the  razor-man)  Fm  not  a  knave  ; 

u  As  for  the  razors  you  have  bought, 

a  Upon  my  soul,  I  never  thought, 
•c  That  they  would  ah  \~ce" 

41  Not  think,  they'd  shave  1" quoth  Hodge,  with 

wond'ring  eyes, 
And  voice  not  much  unlike  an  Indian  yell ; 
"   What  were  they  made  for,   then  ?  you   dog !"  he 

cries : 
"  Made'!1''  quoth  the  fellow,  with  a  smile — "  to  sell  V 


MIDAS'S  SECOND  MISTAKE. 


O 


NCE  an  old  country  squaretoes,  tofopp'ry  a  foe, 
And  disgusted  alike  at  a  crop  and  a  beau, 
Being  church-warden  made,  was  in  office  so   strict, 
That  there  scarce  was  a  coat,  but  a  hole  in't  he'd 
pick  : 


MIDAS'S  SECOND  MISTAKE.  : 

Infringements,  encroachments,  and  trespasses  scout- 
ing ; 
And  from  straddling  the  tomb-stones  the  boys  daily 

routing  : 
At  last  made  a  justice,  corruption  to  purge, 
His  Worship  became  both  a  nuisance  and  scourge  : 
When  a  poor  needy  neighbour,   who  kept  a  miich 

ass, 
Which  he   cften   turn'd  into  the   church-yard  for 

grass, 
And  with  long  ears  and  tail  o'er  the  graves  did  he 

stray, 
While  perchance,  now  and  then,  at  bystanders  he'd 

bray : 
And  once  when  old  Midas  was  passing  along, 
He  set  up  his  pipes  at  his  brother,  ding  dong; 
At  which  his  puff'd  pride  was  so  stung  to  the  quick, 
That  he  glar'd  at  the  browser  as  stern  as  Old  Nick; 
And  when  he  got  home,  for  the  sexton  he  sent, 
Who,  with  this  doughty  threat,   to   the  ass-keeper 

went ; 
That  again  should  his  beast  the  church-wrarden  as- 
sail, 
Or  be  seen  in  the  church-yard — he'd  cut  off  his  tail: 
When  the  owner  replied — "  Sure  his  worship  but 

jeers  ; 
But  should  he  dock  donky — I'll  cut  off  his  ear*.v 
When  no  sooner  the   answer  was  brought  to  him 

back, 
But  he  summon'd  before  him  the  clown  in  :>  crack ; 
And  he  said — "  Thou  vile   varlet,  how    comes  it  to 

pass, 
That  thou  dar'st  for  to  threaten  to  crop  a  jusf -ass  ? 
Thou  cm  off  my  ears  ? — Make  his  mittimus-,  clerk; 
I'll  make  an  example  of  this  precious  spark  : 
But  Mist  reach  me  down  the  black  act—-  .!  see 

That,  the  next  Lent  Assizes,  he'il  -  .  tree.** 

"  I  zwing  on  a  tree  ! — una  for  what :"  replies  Hob, 
How  the  dickens  came  zuch  a  strange  freak  in  your 
knob  ? 


*  THE  NEWCASTLE  APOTHECARY. 

I  woanly  but  zaid,  if  my  ass  met  your  sheers, 
And  you  cut  off  his  tail,  that  I'd  cut  off  his  ears  ; 
Vor  as  you  hate  long  tails,  as  the  mark  of  a  fop, 
I'd  ha'  don't,  'cause  I  knaugh  that  you  don't  like  a 

crop." 
At  this  subtle  rejoinder,  his  worship  struck  dumb, 
Found  his  proud  overbearing  was  quite  overcome  r 
So  the  ass  sav'd  his  tail  by  a  quibble  so  clever, 
And  the  justice's  ears  are  now  longer  than  ever. 


THE  NEWCASTLE  APOTHECARY. 

(COLMAN,    JUNIOR.) 

xjl  MAN,  in  many  a  country  town,  we  know, 
Professes  openly  with  Death  to  wrestle ; 

Ent'ring  the  field  against  the  grimly  foe, 
Arm'd  with  a  mortar  and  a  pestle. 

Yet,  some  affirm,  no  enemies  they  are ; 
But  meet  just  like  prize-fighters,  in  a  Fair, 
Who  first  shake  hands  before  they  box, 
Then  give  each  other  plaguy  knocks, 
With  all  the  love  and  kindness  of  a  brother ; 
So  (many  a  suff'ring  Patient  saith,) 
Tho'  the  Apothecary  fights  with  Death, 
Still  they're  sworn  friends  to  one  another. 

A  member  of  this  JEsculapian  line, 
Lived  at  Newcastle  upon  Tyne  ; 
No  man  could  better  gild  a  pill  ; 

Or  make  a  bill ; 
Or  mix  a  draught,  or  bleed,  or  blister  ; 
Or  draw  a  tooth  out  of  your  head  ; 
Or  chatter  scandal  by  your  bed ; 

Or  give  a  clyster. 

Of  occupations  these  were  quantum  suff. : 
Yet,  still,  he  thought  the  list  not  long  enough; 


THE  NEWCASTLE  APOTHECARY.  9 

And  therefore  Midwifery  he  chose  to  pin  to't. 
This  balanced  things: — for  if  he  hurld 
A  few  score  mortals  from  the  world, 

He  made  amends  by  bringing  others  in  to't. 

His  fame,  full  six  miles  round  the  country  ran ; 

In  short,  in  reputation  he  was  solus : 
All  the  old  women  call'd  him  *  a  fine  man  1' 

His  name  was  Bolus. 

Benjamin  Bolus,  tho'  in  trade, 

(Which  oftentimes  wiil  genius  fetter) 

Read  works  of  fancy,  it  is  said ; 
And  cultivated  the  Belles  Letters. 

And  why  should  this  be  thought  so  odd  ? 

Can't  men  have  taste  who  cure  a  phthysic  ? 
Of  Poetry  tho5  Patron-God, 

Apollo  patronises  Physic. 

Bolus  loved  verse  ; — and  took  so  much  delight  Sji't, 
That  his  prescriptions  he  resolv'd  to  write  in't. 

No  opportunity  he  e'er  let  pass 

Of  writing  the  directions,  on  his  labels, 

In  dapper  couplets, — like  Gay's  -Fables; 
Or,  rather,  like  the  lines  in  Hudibras. 

Apothecary's  verse  ! — and  where's  the  treason  ? 

'Tis  simply  honest  dealing  ;— not  a  crime  ; — . 
When  Patients  swallow  physick  without  reason, 

It  is  but  fair  to  give  a  little  rhyme. 

He  had  a  patient  lying  at  death's  door, 
Some  three  miles  from  the  town — it  might  be  four  ; 
To  whom,  one  evening,  Boius  sent  an  article, 
In  Pharmacy,  that's  cali'd  cathartical : 

And,  on  the  label  of  the  stuff, 
He  wrote  this  verse  ; 


10  THE  NEWCASTLE  APOTHECARY. 

Which,  one  would  think,  was  clear  enough. 
And  terse  : — 


u  When  taken, 

"  To  be  well  shaken. 


Next  morning,  early,  Bolus  rose, 
And  to  the  Patient's  house  he  goes ; — 

Upon  his  pad, 
Who  a  vile  trick  of  stumbling  had  : 
It  was,  indeed,  a  very  sorry  hack  ; 

But  that's  of  course  ; 

For  what's  expected  from  a  horse, 
With  an  Apothecary  on  his  back  ? 

Bolus  arrived  ;  and  gave  a  doubtful  tap  ; 
Between  a  single  and  a  double  rap. — 

Knocks  of  this  kind 
Are  given  by  Gentlemen  who  teach  to  dance  ; 

By  Fiddlers,  and  by  Opera-singers  : 
One  loud,  and  then  a  little  one  behind  ; 
As  if  the  knocker  fell,  by  chance, 

Out  of  their  fingers. 

The  Servant  lets  him  in,  with  dismal  face, 
Long  as  a  courtier's  out  of  place — 

Portending  some  disaster  ; 
John's  countenance  as  rueful  look'd,  and  gr\m, 
As  if  th'  Apothecary  had  physick'd  him, — 

And  not  his  master. 

"  Well,  how's  the  patient?"  Bolus  said — 

John  shook  his  head. 
"  Indeed ! — hum !  ha ! — that's  very  odd ! 
u  He  took  the  draught  ?" — John  gave  a  nod. 
"  Well— how  ? — what  then  ? — speak  out,  you  dunce!" 
"  Why  then" — says  John — "  we  shook  him  onCe." 


WHIMSICAL  MAL-ENTEXDU.  11 

"  Shook  him! — how?" — Bolus  stammer'd  out: — 
"  We  jolted  him  about." 
•  "  Zounds !  shake  a  patient,  man ! — a  shake  won't  do!" 
"  No,  sir — and  so  we  gave  him  two." 
"  Two  shakes  !  od's  curse  ! 
"  'Twould  make  the  patient  worse." 
"  It  did  so,  sir  I — and  so  a  third  we  tried." 
"  Well,  and  what  then?" — "  then,  sir,  my  master 
died." 


THE  WHIMSICAL  MAL-ENTENDU. 
AX  EPIGRAM. 

j\  POOR  simple  foreigner,  not  long  ago, 
Whose  knowledge  of  English  was,  simply,  so  so; 
At  a  shop  window  reading, "  Good  pickles  sold  here," 
To  the  shopwoman  said,  "  Vat  is  pickles,  my  dear  r" 

u  Why,  pickles,"  says  she,  "  is  a  sort  of  a  name, 
Like  preserves,  and  the  meaning  is  nearly  the  same; 
For  pickling  preserves,   though  not  quite  the  same 

_  way, 
Yet  'tis  much  the  same  thing,  as  a  body  may  say." 

The  foreigner  bow'd,  and  gave  thanks  for  his  lesson  ; 

Which,  the  next  day,  at  dinner,  he  made  a  fine  mess 
on; 

For  a  loud  clap  of  thunder  caus'd  Miss  Kitty  Ner- 
vous, 

To  start  from  her  chair,  and  cry,  "  Mercy,  preserve 
us!" 

While  he,  keeping  closely  his  lesson  in  view, 

Cry'd  "  Mercy  preserve  us,  and  pickle  us  too  !" 


A  MEDICINE  FOR  THE  LADIES. 

IVllSS  Molly,  a  fam'd  toast,  was  fair  and  young, 
Had  wealth  and  charms — but  then  she  had  a  tongue ! 
From  morn  to  night,  th'  eternal  larum  rung, 
Which  often  lost  those  hearts  her  eyes  had  won. 
Sir  John  was  smitten,  and  confessed  his  flame, 
Sigh'd  out  the  usual  time,  then  wed  the  dame ; 
Possess'd  he  thought,  of  ev'ry  joy  of  life  ; 
But  his  dear  Molly  prov'd  a  very  wife. 
Excess  of  fondness  did  in  time  decline  ; 
Madam  lov'd  money,  and  the  knight  lov'd  wine  : 
From  whence  some  petty  discords  would  arise, 
As,  "  You're  a  fool  !" — and, "  You  are  mighty  wise  1" 

Tho*  he  and  all  the  world  allow'd  her  wit ; 
Her  voice  was  shrill,  and  rather  loud  than  sweet ; 
When  she  began — for  hat  and  sword  he'd  call  ; 
Then,  after  a  faint  kiss>  cry,  "  B'y,  dear  Moll : 
M  Supper  and  friends  expect  me  at  the  Rose." 
"  And,  what,  Sir  John,  you'll  get  your  usual  dose  ? 
"  Go,  stink  of  smoke,  and  guzzle  nasty  wine  ; 
"  Sure,  never  virtuous  love  was  us'd  like  mine  1" 

Oft',  as  the  watchful  bellman  march  his  round, 

At  a  iresh  bottle  gay  Sir  John  he  found; 

By  four  :he  knight  would  get  his  business  done, 

And  only  then  reei'd  oF,  because  alone. 

Full  weil  he  knew  the  dreadful  storm  to  come  ; 

But,  arm'd  with  Bordeaux,  he  durst  venture  home 

My  lady  with  her  tongue  was  still  prepar'd; 

She  raitied  loud,  and  he  impatient  heard : 

u  'Tis  a  fine  hour !  In  a  sweet  pickle  made  ! 

"  And  this,  Sir  John,  is  ev'ry  day  the  trade. 

"  Here  I  sit  moping  all  the  live-long  night, 

"  Devour d  by  spleen,  and  stranger  to  delight; 

"  Till  morn  sends  staggering  home  a  drunken  beast, 

"  Resolv'd  to  break  my  heart,  as  well  as  rest." 


A  MEDICIXE  FOR  THE  LADIES.  I 

u  Hey  !  hoop  !  d'ye    hear,  my  damn'd  obstrep'rous 

spouse ! 
«  What  can't  you  find  one  bed  about  the  house  ? 
"  Will  that  perpetual  clack  lie  never  still  ? 
"  That  rival  to  the  softness  of  a  mill! 
"  Some  couch  and  distant  room  must  be  my  choice, 
"  Where  I  may  sleep  uncurs'd  with  wife  and  noise." 

Long  this  uncomfortable  life  they  led, 

With  snarling  meals,  and  each  a  separate  bed. 

To  an  old  uncle  oft  she  would  complain, 

Beg  his  advice,  and  scarce  from  tears  refrain. 

Old  Wisewood  smok'd  the  matter  as  it  was ; 

"  Cheer  up  1"  cried  he,  "and  I'll  remove  the  cause  ; 

"  A  wond'rous  spring  within  my  garden  flows, 

"  Of  sov'reign  virtue,  chiefly  to  compose 

"  Domestic  jars,  and  matrimonial  strife, 

"  The  best  elixir  t'  appease  man  and  wife ; 

"  Strange  are  th'  effects,  the  qualities  divine  ; 

11  'Tis  water  call'd,  but  worth  its  weight  in  wine  : 

"  If  in  his  sullen  airs,  Sir  John  should  come, 

"  Three  spoonfulls  take,  hold  in  your  mouth — then 

mum  : 
"  Smile,  and  look  pleas'd,  when  he  shall   rage  and 

scold, 
"  .Still  in  your  mouth  the  healing  cordial  hold; 
"  One  month  this  sympathetic  med'cine  try'd, 
4i  He  '11  grow  a  lover,  you  a  happy  bride  : 
"  But,  dearest  niece,  keep  this  grand  secret  close, 
"  Or  ev'ry  prattling  hussey  '11  beg  a  dose." 
A  water-bottle  's  brought  for  her  relief; 
Not  Nantz  could  sooner  ease  the  lady's  grief: 
Her  busy  thoughts  are  on  the  trial  bent, 
And,  female-like,  impatient  for  th'  event. 
The  bonny  knight  reels  home,  exceeding  clear, 
Prepar'd  for  clamour,  and  domestic  war. 
Entering,  he  cries — "  Hey !  where's  our  thunder  fled  ? 
"  No  hurricane?  Betty's  your  lady  dead:" 
Madam,  aside,  an  ample   mouthful  takes, 
Curt'sies,  looks  kind,  but  not  a  word  she  speaks. 

c 


14  BATTLE  OF  THE  KEGS. 

Wond'ring,  he  star'd,  scarcely  his  eyes  belie  v'd, 

But  found  his  ears  agreeably  deceiv'd. 

"  Why,  how  now,  Molly,  what's  the  crotchet  now  r" 

She  smiles,  and  answers  only  with  a  bow. 

Then  clasping  her  about — "  Why,  let  me  die ! 

"  These  night-clothes,  Moll,  become  you  mightily  !'r 

With  that,  he  sigh'd,  her  hand  began  to  press, 

And  Betty  calls,  her  lady  to  undress. 

Thus  the  fond  pair  to  bed  enamour' d  went, 

The  lady  pleas'd,  and  the  good  knight  content. 

For  many  days  these  fond  endearments  pass'd, 
The  reconciling  bottle  fails  at  last ; 
'Twas  us'd  and  gone — then  midnight  storms  arose-- 
And  looks  and  words  the  union  discompose. 
Her  coach  is  order'd,  and  post-haste  she  flies 
To  beg  her  uncle  for  some  fresh  supplies; 
Transported  does  the  strange  effects  relate, 
Her  knight's  conversion  and  her  happy  state  ! 

"  Why,  niece,"  says  he,  "  I  prithee  apprehend, 
"  The  water  's  water — be  thyself  thy  friend  ; 
"  Such  beauty  would  the  coldest  husband  warm, 
u  But  your  provoking  tongue  undoes  the  charm  . 
;c  Be  silent  and  complying — you  '11  soon  find, 
"  Sir  John,  without  a  med'eine,  will  be  kind." 


BATTLE  OF  TPIE  KEGS. 

(f.   hofkixsox.) 

VJTALLAXTS,  attend,  and  hear  a  friend, 

Trill  forth  harmonious  ditty  : 
Strange  things  I  '11  tell,  which  late  befel 

In  Philadelphia  city. 


BATTLE  OF  THE  KEGS  15 

Twas  early  day,  as  poets  say, 

Just  when  the  sun  was  rising, 
A  soldier  stood  on  log  of  wood, 

And  saw  a  sight  surprising. 

As  in  a  maze,  he  stood  to  gaze, 

(The  truth  can't  be  denied,  sir) 
lie  spied  a  score  of  kegs  or  more 

Come  floating  down  the  tide,  sir. 

A  sailor,  too,  in  jerkin  blue, 

The  strange  appearance  viewing, 
First  damn'd  his  eyes,  in  great  surprise  ; 

Then  said — "  Some  mischief's  brewing 

"  These  kegs  now  hold  the  rebels  bold, 

"  Pack'd  up  like  pickled  herring  ; 
;;  And  they  're  come  down,  t'  attack  the  town 

"  In  this  new  way  of  ferry'ng." 

The  soldier  flew — the  sailor  too — 

And,  scar'd  almost  to  death,  sir, 
Wore  out  their  shoes,  to  spread  the  news  ; 

And  ran  till  out  of  breath,  sir. 

Now  up  and  down,  throughout  the  town, 

Most  frantic  scenes  were  acted  : 
And  some  ran  here,  and  some  ran  there, 

Like  men  almost  distracted. 

Some  "  Fire"  cry'd ;  which  some  deny'd, 

But  said  the  earth  had  quaked  : 
And  girls  and  boys,  with  hideous  noise, 

Ran  through  the  town  half  naked. 

Sir  William*  he,  snug  as  a  flea, 

Lay  all  this  time  a  snoring  ; 
Nor  dreamt  of  harm,  as  he  lay  warm 

In  bed  with  Mrs.  L . 

•  William  Howe 


BATTLE  OF  THE  KEGS. 

Now  in  a  fright,  he  starts  upright, 

Awak'd  by  such  a  clatter : 
He  rubs  both  eyes ;  and  boldly  cries, 

"  For  God's  sake,  what  5s  the  matter  r" 

At  his  bed-side,  he  then  cspy'd 

Sir  Erskine*  at  command,  sir; 
Upon  one  foot,  he  had  one  boot, 

And  t'  other  in  his  hand,  sir. 

"  Arise  !  arise  I"  sir  Erskine  cries  : 

"  The  rebels — more  's  the  pity — 
"  Without  a  boat,  are  all  on  float, 

"  And  rang'd  before  the  city. 

"  The  motley  crew,  in  vessels  new, 

"  With  Satan  for  their  guide,  sir, 
u  Pack'd  up  in  bags,  or  wooden  kegs 

"  Come  driving  down  the  tide,  sir. 

rt  Therefore,  prepare  for  bloody  war : 

"  These  kegs  must  all  be  routed  : 
"  Or  surely  we  despis'd  shall  be, 

"  And  British  courage  doubted." 

The  royal  band  now  ready  stand, 

All  rang'd  in  dread  array,  sir  ; 
With  stomachs  stout  to  see  it  out, 

And  make  a  bloody  day,  sir. 

The  cannons  roar,  from  shore  to  shore ; 

The  small  arms  make  a  rattle. 
Since  wars  began,  I'm  sure  no  man 

E'er  saw  so  strange  a  battle. 

The  rebelf  vales,  the  rebel  dales, 
With  rebel  trees  surrounded, 

'  Sir  William  Erskine. 

|  The  British  officers  were  so  fond  of  the  word  vebcl,  that 
'h^y  often  applied  it  most  absurdly. 


THE  NEW  ENGLAND  SABBATH-DAY  CHACE.    17 

The  distant  woods,  the  hills  and  floods. 
With  rebel  echoes  sounded. 

The  fish  below  swam  to  and  fro, 

Attack'd  from  ev'ry  quarter  : 
■'  Why  sure,"  thought  they,  "  the  devTs  to  pay 

"  'Mongst  folks  above  the  water." 

The  kegs,  'tis  said,  though  strongly  made 

Of  rebel  staves  and  hoops,  sir, 
Could  not  oppose  their  powerful  foes, 

The  conqu'ring  British  troops,  sir. 

From  morn  to  night,  those  men  of  miglu 

Display'd  amazing  courage  ; 
And  when  the  sun  was  fairly  down, 

Retir'd  to  sup  their  porridge. 

An  hundred  men,  with  each  a  pen, 

Or  more,  upon  my  word,  sir, 
It  is  most  true,  would  be  too  few, 

Their  valour  to  record,  sir. 

Such  feats  did  they  perform  that  day, 

Upon  those  wicked  kegs,  sir, 
That  years  to  come,  if  they  get  home, 

They'll  make  their  boasts  and  brags,  sir 


THE  NEW  ENGLAND  SABBATH-DAY 
CHACE. 

(p.     FRENEAU.) 

VJN  a  fine  Sunday  morning  I  mounted  my  steed 
And  southward  from  Hartford-  had  meant  to  pro- 
ceed ; 
My  baggage  was  stow'd  in  a  cart  very  snug, 
Which  Raxgeu,  the  gelding,  wras  destined  to  lug; 

c  2 


18    THE  NEW  ENGLAND  SABBATH-DAY  CIIACE. 

With  his  harness  and  buckles,  he  loom'd  very  grand, 

And  was  drove  by  young  Darby,  a  lad  of  the  land — 

On  land,  or  on  water,  most  handy  was  he, 

A  jockey  on  shore,  and  a  sailor  at  sea  ; 

He  knew  all  the  roads,  he  was  so  very  keen, 

And  the  Bible  by  heart,  at  the  age  of  fifteen. 

As  thus  I  jogg'd  on,  to  my  saddle  confined, 
With  Ranger  and  Darby  a  distance  behind  ; 
At  last  in  full  view  of  a  steeple  we  came 
With  a  cock  on  the  spire  (I  suppose  he  was  game  ; 
A  dove  in  the  pulpit  may  suit  your  grave  people, 
But  always  remember — a  cock  on  the  steeple) 
('ries  Darby — "  Dear  master,  I  beg  you  to  stay ; 
Believe  me,  there's  danger  in  driving  this  way ; 
Our  deacons  on  Sundays  have  power  to  arrest 
And  lead  us  to  church — if  your  honour  thinks  best — 
Though  still  I  must  do  them  the  justice  to  tell, 
They  would  choose  you  should  pay  them  the  line — 

full  as  well." 
u  The  fine  (said  I)  Darby,  how  much  may  it  be — 
A  shilling  or  sixpence  ? — why,  now  let  me  see, 
Three  shillings  are  all  the  small  pence  that  remain, 
And  to  change  a  half  joe  would  be  rather  profane. 
Is  it  more   than  three  shillings,  the  fine  that  you 

speak  on ; 
What  say  you,  good   Darby — will    that  serve   the 

deacon." 
"  Three  shillings !  (cried  Darby)  why,  master,  you  're 

jesting ! — 
Let  us  luff  while  we  can  and  make  sure  of  our  west- 

ing— 
Forty  shillings,  excuse  me,  is  too  much  to  pay ; 
It  would  take  my  month's  wages — that'  s  all  I  've  to 

say. 
By  taking  this  road  that  inclines  to  the  right 
The  squire  and  the  sexton  may  bid  us  good  night, 
If  once  to  old  Ranger  I  give  up  the  rein 
The  parson  himself  may  pursue  us  in  vain.'1 


j 


THE  NEW  ENGLAND  SABBATH-DAY  CHACE.    19 

"  Not  I,  my  good  Darby  (I  answer'd  the  lad) 
Leave  the  church  on  the  left !  they  would  think  we 

were  mad  ; 
I  would  sooner  rely  on  the  heels  of  my  steed, 
And  pass  by  them  all,  like  a  Jehu  indeed  : — 
As  long  as  I  'm  able  to  lead  in  the  race 
Old  Ranger,  the  gelding,  will  go  a  good  pace, 
As  the  deacon  pursues,  he  will  fly  like  a  swallow, 
And  you  in  the  cart,  must,  undoubtedly,  follow." 

Then  approaching  the  church,  as  wepass'd  by  the 
door 
The  sexton  peep'd  out,  with  a  saint  or  two  more, 
A  deacon  came  forward  and  waved  us  his  hat, 
A  signal  to  drop  him  some  money — mind  that!— 
"  Now,  Darby  (I  halloo'd  be  ready  to  skip, 
Ease  off  the  curb  bridle — give  Ranger  the  whip : 
While  you  have  the  rear,  and  myself  lead  the  wayr 
No  doctor  or  deacon  can  catch  us  this  day." 

By  this  time  the  deacon  had  mounted  his  poney 
And  chaced  for  the  sake  of  our  souls  and — our  mo- 
ney : 
The  saint,  as  he  followed,  cried — "  Stop  them,  hal- 
loo I" 
As  swift  as  he  followed,  as  swiftly  we  flew — 

"  Ah  master !  (said  Darby)  I  very  much  fear 
We  must  drop  him  some  money  to  check  his  career, 
He  is  gaining  upon  us  and  waves  with  his  hat, 
There  's  nothing,  dear  master,  will  stop  him  but  that. 
Remember  the  Beaver  (you  well  know  the  fable) 
Who  flying  the  hunters  as  lopg  as  he  's  able, 
When  he  finds  that  his  efforts  can  nothing  avail, 
But  death  and  the  puppies  are  close  at  Ins  tail, 
Instead  of  desponding  at  such  a  dead  lift, 
He  bites  off  thnr  object^  and  makes  a  free  gift — 
Since  fortune  ail  hope  of  escaping  denies 
Better  give  them  a  little  than  lose  the  whole  prize." 


0  THE  BOYS  AND  THE  FROGS. 

But  scarce  had  he  spoke,  when  we  came  to  a  place 
Whose  muddy  condition  concluded  the  chace, 
Down  settled  the  cart — and  old  Ranger  stuck  fast 
t{  Aha  !  (said  the  saint)  have  I  catch'd  ye  at  last  ?** 

tF  tf  If  *F  <V  ifc  3|c 

Cetera  desunt. 


THE  BOYS  AND  THE  FROGS. 

(PIXDAR.) 

XJl  THOUSiVND  Frogs,  upon  a  summer's  day, 
Were  sporting  'midst  the  sunny  ray, 
In  a  large  pool,  reflecting  ev'ry  face; — 

They  show'd  their  gold-lac'd  clothes,  with  pride ; 

In  harmless  sallies,  frequent  vy'd, 
And  gambol'd  through  the  water,  with  a  grace. 

It  happen' d  that  a  band  of  boys, 

Observant  of  their  harmless  joys, 
Thoughtless  resolv'd  to  spoil  their  happy  sport ; 

One  frenzy  seiz'd  both  great  and  small  : 

On  the  poor  frogs  the  rogues  began  to  fall, 
Meaning  to  splash  them,  not  to  do  them  hurt. 

As  Milton  quaintly  sings,  *  the  stones  'gan  pour,' 
Indeed  an  Otaheite  show'r ! 

The  consequence  was  dreadful,  let  me  tell  ye ; 
One's  eye  was  beat  out  of  his  head; — 
Thi3  Hmp'd  away,  that  lay  for  dead, — 

Here  mourn'd  a  broken  back,  and  there  a  belly. 

Among  the  smitten,  it  was  found, 

Their  beauteous  queen  receiv'd  a  wound ; 

The  blow  gave  ev'ry  heart  a  sigh, 

And  drew  a  tear  from  ev'ry  eye ; 
At  length  King  Croak  got  up,  and  thus  begun — - 
"  My  lads,  you  think  this  very  pretty  fun  !■ 


THE  BAT  AND  THE  WEASELS.  21 

«'  Your  pebbles  round  us  fly  as  thick  as  hops, — 
"  Have  warmly  complimented  all  our  chops  ; — 
"  To  you,  I  guess,  that  these  are  pleasant  stones! 
"  And  so  they  might  be  to  us  Frogs, 
"  You  damn'd,  young,  good-for-nothing  dogs, 
«  But  that  they  are  so  hard — they  break  our  bones." 


THE  BAT  AND  THE  WEASELS. 
A  FABLE. 

KJr  weasels  some  eat  birds.     Again 
Others  eat  mice.     So  says  Fontaine. 
If  I  am  wrong  tho'  in  this  same, 
Mark  me,  the  Frenchman  is  to  blame. 

A  smart  young  bat  for  wenching  sake, 
Was  out  one  night  upon  the  rake : 
(Nay — frown  not :  bats,  as  well  as  men, 
Must — that  they  must — sin  now  and  then  :) 
And  while  a  weasel  was  at  rest 
Popt  by  mistake  into  his  nest. 

"  Who 's  there  ?"  cries  small  guts :  "  -wife !  my  dear ! 
*'  Some  rogue,  some  thief  's  got  in,  I  fear. 
"  Who  's  there  ?  I  say — O,  sir  !  is  't  you  ? 
"  This  visit  you  '11  be  apt  to  rue. 
"  Ar'  n't  you  a  mouse  ?  speak  :  are  you  not  ? 
M  Speak,  sirrah,  or  you  go  to  pot. 
"  You  know,  you  dog,  I  hate  you  all ; — 
"  I  say,  I  hate  you,  great  and  small." 

Some  trifle  fiuster'd,  quoth  th'  intriguer, 
;;  Why,  my  dear  sir,  you  're  vastly  eager. 
"  Sure  any  bird  would  think  you  mad  ! 
"  A  mouse,  too !  very  high,  egad  1 
"  Pray  have  mice  wings  ?  look  :  wings  like  these,  sir  ? 
"  Answer  me  only,  if  you  please,  sir : 


&  EPITAPH  ON  AN  OLD  HORSE. 

"  I,  heav'n  be  thank'd !  am  of  the  feather. 
u  And  glad  I  am,  we're  here  together.'3 
The  honest  landlord  gaz'd  and  gaz'd : 
Never  was  weasel  so  amaz'd. 

The  matter  settled,  off  goes  bat : 
"  Odzooks,"  quoth  he.,  "  I  hit  it  pat : 
(i  Th'  escape  I  had  was  good  enough  ! 
"  For  once,  my  wit  has  say'd  my  buff. 
u  But  softly — who  lives  here  ?  I  '11  call-— 
"  Another  weasel — faith  that  's  all." 
Mine  host,  who  lik'd  a  fowl  for  supper, 
Quick  seiz'd  our  hero  by  the  crupper. 
M  Hallo  !   here!  murder!  help,"  cries  hej 
"  What  means  this  outrage,  sir,  on  me  ? 
*<  D'ye  take  me  for  a  bird  ? — the  devil  ! 
"  What  's  all  thia — sir — I  say  be  civil. 
u  Blood,  I'm  a  mouse."     The  weasel  saw 
The  mouse's  head  and  little  paw : 
He  begg'd  his  pardon  ;  'twa'nt  intended 
'Gainst  one  he'd  sooner  have  defended  ; 
Hop'd  he'd  forgive  it — a  mistake — 
Which  any  one  at  night  might  make. 
Be  sure  he  made  not  much  ado  ; 
Away  the  rogue  in  buckram  flew. 

Thus  crafty  folks  will  act :  whene'er 

They  're  press'd,  they  change,  and  think  'tis  fair 

They  're  this  thing  here,  and  t'other  there. 


EPITAPH  ON  AN  OLD  HORSE 

(dr.  ladd.) 

JLjET  no  facetious  mortal  laugh, 
To  see  a  horse's  epitaph  : 
Lest  some  old  steed,  with  saucy  phiz, 
Should  have  the  sense  to  laugh  at  his ; 


,,} 


A  KIXG  AND  A  BRICK-MAKER, 

As  well  he  might ;  for  prove  we  can, 
The  courser  equal  to  the  man. 

This  horse  was  of  supreme  degree. 
At  least  no  common  steed  was  he. 
He  scorn'd  the  tricks  of  sly  trepanners, 
And  never  horse  had  better  manners. 
He  scorn'd  to  tell  a  lie,  or  mince 
His  words,  by  clipping  half  their  sense  : 
But  if  he  meant  to  shew  you  why, 
He'd  out  with' t,  let  who  would  be  by. 
And  (how  can  man  the  blush  restrain?) 
Ne'er  took  his  Maker's  name  in  vain! 
A  better  servant  horse  was  never, 
His  master  own'd,  that  he  was  clever, 
Then  to  his  equals  all  obliging, 
To  his  inferiors  quite  engaging ; 
A  better  christian,  too,  I  trow, 
Than  some  denominated  so. 
In  him  Ave  the  good  father  find, 
The  duteous  son,  the  husband  kind  ; 
The  friend  sincere — tho'  not  to  brag, 
The  honest  and  well  meaning  nag. 

Then  let  those  fools  who  vainly  langfo, 
To  see  a  horse's  epitaph, 
Go,  grope  among  the  human  dust, 
\nd  find  an  epitaph  more  just. 


A  KING  AND  A  BRICK-MAKER, 

(riXDAR.) 

J\.  KING,  near  Pimlico,  with  nose  and  state. 
Did  very  much  a  neighb'ring  brick-kiln  hate, 
Because  this  kiln  did  vomit  nasty  smoke  ; 

Which  smoke — I  can't  say  very  neatly  bred, 

Did  very  often  take  it  in  the  head, 
To  blacken  the  great  house,  and  try  the  king  to  choke. 


24  A  KING  AND  A  BRICK-MAKER 

His  sacred  Majesty  would,  sputt'ring  say, 

Upon  a  windy  day, 
"  I'll  make  the  raseal  and  his  brick-kiln  hop  ; 

"  P-x  take  the  smoke — the  sulphur  !  zounds  ! 

"  It  forces  down  my  throat,  by  pounds  ; 
"  My  belly  is  a  downright  blacksmith's  shop." 

One  day,  he  was  so  pester'd  by  a  cloud — 

He  could  not  bear  it,  and  thus  bawl'd  aloud: 
"  Go,"  (roar'd  his  Majesty  unto  a  page  ; 
Work'd  like  a  lion,  to  a  dev'lish  rage) 

"  Go,  tell  the  rascal,  who  the  brick-kiln  owns, 
u  That  if  he  dares  to  burn  another  brick, 
"  Black  all  my  house  like  hell,  and  make  me  sick, 

"  I'll  tear  his  kiln  to  rags,  and  break  his  bones." 

Off  set  the  page,  and  soon  his  errand  told  : 
On  which  the  brick-maker — a  little  bold, 
Exclaim'd,  "  He  break  my  bones,  good  master  page  ! 
"  He  say,  my  kiln  sha'nt  burn  another  brick, 
"  Because  it  blacks  his  house,  and  makes  him  sick ! 
u  Go — give  my  compliments  to  master's  rage, 
"  And  say  more  bricks  I  am  resolv'd  to  burn  ; 
"  And — (if  the  smoke  his  worship's  stomach  turn) 
"  To  stop  his  royal  mouth  and  snout ; 

"  Nay,  more,  good  page  ;  His  Majesty  shall  find, 
"  I  '11  always  take  th'  advantage  of  the  wind, 
u  And,  dam'me,  try  to  smoke  him  out. 

This  was  a  dreadful  message  to  the  King, 

From  a  poor  ragged  rogue  that  dealt  in  mud  : 
Vet,  though  so  impudent  a  thing, 

The  fellow's  rhet'ric  could  not  be  withstood. 
Stiff,  as  against  poor  Hasting's,  Edmund  Burke, 
This  brick-maker  went,  tooth  and  nail,  to  work, 
And  form'd  a  true  Vesuvius  on  the  eye  : 
The  smoke,  in  pitchy  volumes  roll'd  along, 
Rush'd  thro'  the  royal  dome  with  sulphur  strong. 
And  then,  ascending,  darken'd  all  the  sky. 


I 

TWO  BLAKKS  TO  A  PRIZE.  25 

Thus  did  this  cloud  of  darkness  daily  shade 
The  building,  for  the  Lord's  Anointed  made, 

And  blacken'd  it,  like  palls,  that  grace  a  burying  : 
Thus  was  this  Man  of  mud  and  straw  employ'd, 
And,  at  the  thought  so  wicked,  overjoy'd, 

Of  smoaking  his  liege  sov'reign  like  a  Herring  : 

Of  serving  him,  as  we  do  parts  of  swine, 

Thought, "with  green  peas,  a  dish  extremely  line. 

But  lo !  this  baneful  Rogue  of  brick, 

Fell,  for  his  sov'reign,  fortunately  sick, 

And,  ere  the  wretch  could  please  his  spleen  and  pride. 

Of  turning  Monarchs  into  bacon — dy'd. 


I 


TWO  BLANKS  TO  A  PRIZE. 

(AMERICAN   MUSEUM.) 


N  the  lott'ry  of  life,  lest  dame  fortune  beguile, 
This  great  truth  we  should  ever  premise, 
Thataltho'  the  bright  goddess  may  simper  and  smile, 
She  has  always — two  blanks  to  a  prize  ! 

If  a  husband  you  'd  take,  miss — or  you,  sir,  a  wife. 

From  this  maxim  divert  not  your  eyes ; 
For  of  one  and  the  other  I'll  venture  my  life, 

There  are  more  than — two  blanks  to  a  prize  ! 

If  in  law  you  're  entangl'd,  why  then,  silly  man, 
As  a  friend,  give  me  leave  to  advise  ; 

Slip  your  neck  from  the  collar,  as  fast  as  you  can : 
There  are  fifty — two  bianks  to  a  prize  ! 

And  if  for  preferment,  you  're  striving  at  court, 

Or  by  merit  expect  you  shall  rise  ; 
Then  your  chance  is  not  worth,  sir,  three  fourth?  of 
a  groat : 

There  are  ninety — two  bjanks  to  a  prize  ! 

D 


HUMANITY  AND  INGRATITUDE. 

(frexeau.) 

X3y  the  side  of  the  sea,  in  a  cottage  obscure, 
There  lived  an  old  fellow  named  Chariot  Boncoeury 
Who  was  free  to  his  neighbour  and  good  to  the  poor, 

Catching  fish  was  his  trade, 

And  all  people  said, 
That  mischief  to  nothing  but  fish  he  design'd, 
To  all  people  else  he  was  candid  and  kind. 

One  day  as  he  went  to  the  brink  of  the  lake, 
Persuading  the  fishes  their  dinner  to  take, 
(The  last  he  intended  they  ever  should  make) 
While  his  hooks  he  employ'd  to  their  sorrow  and  wo, 
A  grunting  he  heard  in  the  waters  below  ; 
And  casting  his  eyes  to  the  bottom,  (for  here 
We  '11  suppose  that  the  water  was  perfectly  clear) 
He  saw  on  the  bed  of  the  liquid  profound 
An  unfortunate  wight,  who  was  drowning,  or  drowned. 

That  the  man  to  the  surface  once  more  might  ascend. 
He  took  up  his  pole,  with  a  hook  at  the  end, 

And  to  it  he  fell, 

And  managed  so  well, 
That  soon  to  the  margin  the  carcase  was  drawn, 
An"d  who  should  it  be  but  his  old  neighbour  John  I 

Now,  some  how  or  other,  it  popp'd  in  his  head, 
That  in  spite  of  his  drowning,  the  man  was  not  dead, 
And  while  he  was  thinking  what  means  to  devise 
That  his  friend  might  recover  and  open  his  eyes, 
He  saw  with  vexation  and  sorrow,  no  doubt, 
That,  in  lugging  ]iim  up,  he  had  put  one  eye  out — 
However,  convinced,  from  what  he  had  heard, 
That  John  might  be  living,  for  aught  that  appeared; 
To  his  cottage  he  took  him,  and  there  had  him  bled.. 
Kubb'd,  roll'd  on  a  barrel,  and  then  put  to  bed  : 


HUMANITY  AND  INGRATITUDE.       ,         27 

So  in  less  than  a  week  (to  his  praise  be  it  said) 
In  less  than  a  week,  the  man  was  as  sound 
(Excepting  the  loss  of  his  eye  and  the  wound) 
As  if  in  his  life  he  had  never  been  drowned. 

But  when  John  had  begun  to  travel  about, 
He  was  sadly  chagrined  that  his  eye  was  put  out, 
And  forgetting  what  service  his  neighbour  had  done 

him, 
Went  off  to  a  lawyer,  and  clapt  a  writ  on  him  : 
Talked  much  of  the  value  of  what  he  had  lost, 
That  Chariot  must  pay  all  the  damage  and  cost. 
And  if  with  such  sentence  he  would  not  comply. 
He  swore  he  would  have  his  identical  eye. 

That  Chariot  was  vexed,  we  hardly  need  say, 
Yet  he  urged  what  he  could  in  a  moderate  way, 
Declared  to  the  judges,  by  May  of  defence, 
"  That  the  action  was  wrought  without  malice  pre- 
pense ; 
That  his  conscience  excused  him  for  what  he  had 

done ; 
That  fortune  was  only  to  blame — and  that  John 
Might  have  thought  himself  happy  (when  death  was 

so  nigh) 
To  purchase  his  life  with  the  loss  of  an  eye — 
That  the  loss  of  an  eye  is  a  serious  affair 
Was  certain — and  yet  he'd  be  bold  to  declare, 
That  the  man  who  can  shew  but  one  eye  in  his  head, 
Is  better  by  far  than  a  man  that  is  dead." 

In  answer  to  all  the  defendant's  fine  pleading, 
John  said  "  He  had  never  yet  found  in  his  reading, 
A  people,  or  nation,  or  senator  sage, 
Or  a  law,  or  a  custom,  in  whatever  age, 
Permitting  (unpunished)  by  force  or  surprise 
One  neighbour  to  put  out  his  next  neighbour's  eyes.'* 

The  lawyers,  and  judges  were  all  at  a  stand 
Which  way  to  conclude  on  the  matter  in  hand, 


28  HUMANITY  AND  INGRATITUDE. 

'Till  a  half-witted  fellow,  who  chanced  to  be  there, 
Undertook  to  decide  on  this  weighty  affair ; 
And  cry'd,  "  Can  you  doubt  in  a  case  that 's  so  plain  I 
Be  guided  by  me,  and  you  '11  ne'er  doubt  again  : 
The  plea  of  the  plaintiff  rests  wholly  on  this  ; 
In  fishing  him  up  he  takes  it  amiss, 
That  Chariot  manoeuvred  with  so  little  skill, 
So  awkwardly  fumbled  and  managed  so  ill, 
As  thus  with  his  bungling  to  ruin  John's  look, 
And  put  out  an  eye  with  the  point  of  his  hook — 
Well,  now,  my  lord  judges,  attend  my  decree, 
Straitway  let  the  plaintiff  be  thrown  in  the  sea, 
And,  after  reposing  awhile  on  the  bottom, 
If  he  get  out  alone  from  where  Chariot  got  him, 
Safe3  sound,  and  undamaged — why,  then  'tis  my  sen- 
tence 
That  Chariot  be  punished  and  brought  to  repentance. 
But  if,  after  gasping  and  flouncing  about, 
He  drowns  in  the  water,  and  fails  getting  out, 
Why,  then,  it  is  justice,  it  must  be  confest, 
That  Chariot  forthwith  be  discharged  from  arrest, 
Absolved  from  all  punishment  due  to  the  wound, 
And  paid  in  the  bargain, 'cause  John  was  not  drowned." 

The  audience  was  struck  with  a  world  of  surprize, 
To  find  that  a  fool  could  give  counsel  so  wise. 
The  judges  themselves  the  sentence  espoused, 
And  freeiy  consented  that  John  should  be  soused. 

John,  finding  that  matters  had  took  a  wrong  turn, 
Not  waiting  to  see  if  the  court  would  adjourn, 
Sneaked  out  of  the  house,  with  a  hiss  of  disgrace, 
In   dread — lest  the   sentence   should  quickly  take 

place — 
Grown  pliant  at  last,  his  cause  he  withdrew — 
His  plea  was  so  bad  and  his  friends  were  so  few ; 
It  was  needless,  he  thought  on  the  cast  of  a  die 
To  venture  his  life,  for  the  sake  of  an  eye, 
And  concluded  'twas  better  to  give  up  the  suit, 
Than  risk  the  one  left,  and  be  smothered  to  boot. 


29 


THE  MONKEY,  WHO  SHAVED  HIMSELF 
AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


A  FABLE.  {HUMPHREYS.) 


A 


MAN  who  own'd  a  barber's  shop 
At  York,  and  shav'd  full  many  a  fop, 
A  monkey  kept  for  their  amusement; 
He  made  no  other  kind  of  use  on  't — 
This  monkey  took  great  observation. 
Was  wonderful  at  imitation, 
And  all  he  saw  the  barber  do, 
He  mimick'd  strait,  and  did  it  too. 

It  chanc'd,  in  shop  the  dog  and  cat, 
While  friseur  din'd,  demurely  sat ; 
Jacko  found  nought  to  play  the  knave  in  ; 
So  thought  he'd  try  his  hand  at  shaving. 
Around  the  shop  in  haste  he  rushes, 
And  gets  the  razors,  soap  and  brushes  ; 
Now  puss  he  flx'd  (no  muscle  miss  stirs 
And  lather'd  well  her  beard  and  whisker* 
Then  gave  a  gash,  as  he  began — 
The  cat  cried,  waugh !  and  off  she  ran. 
Next  Towser's  beard  he  tried  his  skill  in, 
Tho'  Towser  seem'd  somewhat  unwilling  ; 
As  badly  here  again  succeeding, 
The  dog  runs  howling  round  and  bleeding 

Nor  yet  was  tir'd  our  roguish  elf: 
He'd  seen  the  barber  shave  himself; 
So  by  the  glass,  upon  the  table, 
He  rubs  with  soap  his  visage  sable  ; 
Then  with  left-hand  holds  smooth  his  jaw;- 
The  razor,  in  his  dexter  paw, 
Around  he  flourishes  and  slashes, 
Till  all  his  face  is  seam'd  with  gashes. 
His  cheeks  dispatch'd — his  visage  thin 
He  cock'd,  to  shave  beneath  his  chin ; 

d  2 


$0  THE  SPORTSMAN  IN  STYLE. 

Drew  razor  swift  as  he  could  pull  it, 
And  cut,  from  ear  to  ear,  his  gullet. 

MORAL. 

Who  cannot  write,  yet  handle  pens, 
Are  apt  to  hurt  themselves  and  friendb. 
Tho'  others  use  them  well,  yet  fools 
Should  never  meddle  with  edge-tools. 


D 


THE  SPORTSMAN  IN  STYLE. 

(dibdin.) 


ON'T  you  see  that  as  how  I'm  a  sportsman  in 
style, 

All  so  kickish,  so  slim,  and  so  tall : 
Why  I've  search'd  after  game,  and  that  many  's  the 
mile, 
And  seed  no  bit  of  nothing  at  all : 
My  licence  I  pockets,  my  pony  I  strides, 

And  I  pelts  through  the  wind  and  the  rain ; 
And,  if  likely  to  fall,  sticks  the  spurs  in  the  sides, 

Leaves  the  bridle,  and  holds  by  the  mane. 
To  be  sure  dad  at  home  kicks  up  no  little  strife, 
But  daddy  what's  that,  en't  it  fashion  and  life  ? 

At  sporting  I  never  was  known  for  to  lag, 

I  was  always  in  danger  the  first ; 
When  at  Epping  last  Easter  they  turn'd  out  the  stag, 

I  'm  the  lad  that  was  roll'd  in  the  dust. 
Then  they  call  me  a  nincom,  why  over  the  fields, 

There  a  little  beyond  Dulwich  Common, 
T  a  chick  and  a  goose  tumbled  neck  over  heels, 

And  two  mudlarks,  besides  an  old  woman  ; 
Then  let  miserly  dad  kick  up  sorrow  and  strife, 
I  'm  the  lad  that 's  genteel,  and  knows  fashion  and 
life. 


MONSIEUR  TONSON.  31 

But  don't  go  for  to  think  I  neglects  number  one — 

Often  when  my  companions  with  ardour, 
Are  hunting  about  with  the  dog  and  the  gun, 

I  goes  and  I  hunts  in  the  larder : 
There  I  springs  a  woodcock,  or  flushes  a  quail, 

Or  finds  puss  as  she  sits  under  cover, 
Then  soho  to  the  barrel  to  start  me  some  ale, 

And  when  I  have  dined,  and  fed  Rover, 
Pays  my  landlord's  shot,  as  I  ogles  his  wife, 
While  the  daughter  cries  out — lord!  what  fashion 
and  life ! 

Then  I  buys  me  some  gam©,  all  as  homeward  we 

jog5 

And  when  the  folks  ax  how  I  got  'em, 

Tho'  I  shooted  but  once,  and  then  kill'd  the  poor  dog, 
I  swears,  and  then  stands  to  't,  that  I  shot  'em. 

So  come  round  me  ye  sportsmen,  that's  smart  and 
what  not, 
All  stylish  and  cutting  a  flash ; 

When  your  piece  won't  kill  game,  charg'd  with 
powder  and  shot, 
To  bring  'em  down,  down  with  your  cash  ; 

And  if  with  their  jokes  and  their  jeers  folks  are  rife, 

Why  dabby,  says  you,  e'nt  it  fashion  and  life  ? 


MONSIEUR  TONSON. 

A  HERE  liv'd  as  fame  reports,  in  days  of  yo»e, 
At  least  some  fifty  years  ago,  or  more, 

A  pleasant  wight  on  town,  yclep'd  Tom  King, 
A  fellow  that  was  clever  at  a  joke, 
Expert  in  all  the  arts  to  teaze  and  smoke, 

In  short,  for  strokes  of  humour,  quite  the  thing. 

To  many  a  jovial  club  this  King  was  known, 
With  whom  his  active  wit  unrivall'd  shone — ■ 


32  MONSIEUR  TONSON. 

Choice  spirit,  grave  free-mason,  buck,  and  blood- 
Would  croud,  his  stories  and  bon  mots  to  hear, 
And  none  a  disappointment  e'er  could  fear, 

His  humour  flow'd  in  such  a  copious  floodt 

To  him  a  frolic  was  a  high  delight — 

A  frolic  he  would  hunt  for  day  and  night, 

Careless  how  prudence  on  the  sport  might  frown. 
If  e'er  a  pleasant  mischief  sprang  to  view, 
At  once  o'er  hedge  and  ditch  away  he  flew, 

Nor  left  the  game  till  he  had  run  it  down. 

One  night,  our  hero,  rambling  with  a  friend, 
Near  fam'd  St.  Giles's  chanc'd  his  course  to  bend* 

Just  by  that  spot,  the  Seven  Dials  hight ; 
'Twas  silence  all  around,  and  clear  the  coast, 
The  watch,  as  usual,  dozing  on  his  post, 

And  scarce  a  lamp  display'd  a  twinkling  light. 

Around  this  place,  there  liv'd  the  num'rous  clans 
Of  honest,  plodding,  foreign  artizans, 

Known  at  that  time  by  the  name  of  refugees — 
The  rod  of  persecution,  from  their  home, 
CompelPd  the  inoffensive  race  to  roam, 

And  here  they  lighted  like  a  swarm  of  bees. 

Well !  our  two  friends  were  saunt'ring  through  the 

street, 
In  hopes  some  food  for  humour  soon  to  meet, 

When,  in  a  window  near,  a  light  they  view  j 
And,  though  a  dim  and  melancholy  ray, 
It  seem'd  the  prologue  to  some  merry  play, 

So  tow'rds  the  gloomy  dome  our  hero  drew. 

Strait  at  the  door  he  gave  a  thund'ring  knock, 
(The  time  v.e  may  suppose  near  two  o'clock) 

"  I'll  ask,"  says  King, "  if  Thompson  lodges  here" — 
"  Thomfisonl"  cries  t'  other,  u  who  the  dcvii  's  he  ?" 
"  I  know  not,"  King  replies,  "  but  want  to  see 

What  kind  of  animal  will  now  appear.'* 


MONSIEUR  TOXSON.  33 

After  some  time,  a  little  Frenchman  came, 

One  hand  display'd  a  rushlight's  trembling  flame, 

The  other  held  a  thing  they  call  culotte; 
An  old  strip'd  woollen  nightcap  grac'd  his  head, 
A  tatter'd  waistcoat  o'er  one  shoulder  spread, 

Scarce  half  awake,  he  heav'd  a  yawning  note. 

Though  thus  untimely  rous'd,  he  courteous  smil'd, 
And  soon  address'd  our  wag  in  accents  mild, 

Bending  his  head  politely  to  his  knee — 
"  Pray,  sare,  vat  vant  you,  dat  you  come  so  late  ; 
M  I  beg  your  pardon,  sare,  to  make  you  rait; 

"  Pray  tell  me,  sare,  vat  your  commands  vid  me :" 

"  Sir,"  reply'd  King,  "  I  merely  thought  to  know, 
M  As  by  your  house  I  chanc'd  to-night  to  go — 

"  But,  really,  I  disturb'd  your  sleep  I  fear — 
"  I  say,  I  thought,  that  you  perhaps  could  tell, 
w  Among  the  folks  who  in  this  street  may  dwell, 

"  If  there 's  a  Mr.  Thompson  lodges  here  ?" 

The  shiv'ring  Frenchman,  tho'  not  pleas'd  to  find 
The  business  of  this  unimportant  kind, 

Too  simple  to  suspect  'twas  meant  in  jeer, 
Shrugg'd  out  a  sigh  that  thus  his  rest  should  break, 
Then,  with  unalter'd  courtesy,  he  spake — 

"  No,  sare,  no  Monsieur  Tonson  lodges  here." 

Our  wag  begg'd  pardon,  and  toward  home  he  spec:, 
While  the  poor  Frenchman  crawl'd  again  to  bed; 

But  King,  resolv'd  not  thus  to  drop  the  jest, 
So  the  next  night,  with  more  of  whim  than  grace, 
Again  he  made  a  visit  to  the  place, 

To  break  once  more  the  poor  old  Frenchman's  rest. 

He  knock'd — but  waited  longer  than  before; 
No  footstep  seem'd  approaching  to  the  door, 

Our  Frenchman  lay  in  such  a  sleep  profound; 
King,  with  the  knocker,  thunder'd  then  again, 
Firm  on  his  post  determin'd  to  remain  ; 

And  oft  indeed  he  made  the  door  resound. 


34  MONSIEUR  TONSON. 

At  last  King  hears  him  o'er  the  passage  creep, 
Wondering  what  fiend  again  disturb'd  his  sleep ; 

The  wag  salutes  him  with  a  civil  leer ; 
Thus  drawling  out,  to  heighten  the  surprize, 
(While  the  poor  Frenchman  rubb'd  his  heavy  eyes) 

U  Is  there — a  Mr.  Thomfison— -lodges  here?" 

The  Frenchman  faulter'd,  with  a  kind  of  fright — 
"  Vy,  sare,  I'm  sure  I  told  you,  sare,  last  night — 

(And  here  he  labour'd  with  a  sigh  sincere) 
No  Monsieur  Tonson  in  de  valid  I  know, 
No  Monsieur  Tonson  here — I  told  you  so  ; 

Indeed,  sare,  dare  no  Monsieur  Tonson  here  1'* 

Some  more  excuses  tender'd,  off  King  goes, 

And  the  old  Frenchman  sought  once  more  repose, 

The  rogue  next  night  pursu'd  his  old  career — 
'Twas  long  indeed  before  the  man  came  nigh, 
And  then  he  utter'd,  in  a  piteous  cry, 

"  Sare,  'pon  my  soul,  no  Monsieur  Tonson  here  1" 

Our  sportive  wight  his  usual  visit  paid, 

And  the  next  night  came  forth  a  prattling  maid  : 

Whose  tongue  indeed  than  any  jack  went  faster- 
Anxious  she  strove  his  errand  to  enquire, 
He  said  "  'tis  vain  her  pretty  tongue  to  tire, 

He  should  not  stir  till  he  had  seen  her  master." 

The  damsel  then  began,  in  doleful  state, 
The  Frenchman's  broken  slumbers  to  relate, 

And  begg'd  he'd  call  at  proper  time  of  day — » 
King  told  her  she  must  fetch  her  master  down, 
A  chaise  was  ready,  he  was  leaving  town, 

But  first  had  much  of  deep  concern  to  say. 

Thus  urg'd,  she  went  the  snoring  man  to  call, 
And  long  indeed  was  she  oblig'd  to  bawl, 

E're  she  could  rouse  the  torpid  lump  of  clay — 
At  last  he  wakes — he  rises — and  he  swears, 
But  scarcely  had  he  totter'd  down  the  stairs, 

When  King  attacks  him  in  his  usual  wav. 


MONSIEUR  TOXSOX.  So 

The  Frenchman  now  perceiv'd  'twas  all  in  vain 
To  this  tormenter  mildly  to  complain, 

And  strait  in  rage  began  his  crest  to  rear — 
"  Sare,  vat  the  devil  make  you  treat  me  so  ? 
"  Sare,  I  inform  you,  sare,  three  nights  ago, 

"  Got  tarn,  I  swear,  no  Monsieur  Tonson  here  !" 

True  as  the  night,  King  went,  and  heard  a  strife 
Between  the  harrass'd  Frenchman  and  his  wife, 

Which  would  descend  to  chase  the  fiend  away  ; 
At  length,  to  join  their  forces  they  agree, 
And  strait  impetuously  they  turn  the  key, 

Prepar'd  with  mutual  fury  for  the  fray. 

Our  hero,  with  the  firmness  of  a  rock, 
Collected  to  receive  the  mighty  shock, 

Utt'ring  the  old  enquiry,  calmly  stood — 
The  name  of  Thompson  rais'd  the  storm  so  high, 
He  deem'd  it  then  the  safest  plan  to  fly, 
With, "  Well,  I  '11  call  when  you  're  in  gentlermood." 

In  short,  our  hero,  with  the  same  intent, 

Full  many  a  night  to  plague  the  Frenchman  went — 

So  fond  of  mischief  was  the  wicked  wit ; 
They  threw  out  water — for  the  watch  they  call, 
Bat  King  expecting,  still  escapes  from  all — 

Monsieur  at  last  was  forc'd  his  house  to  quit. 

It  happen'd  that  our  wag,  about  this  time, 

On  some  fair  prospect  sought  the  Eastern  climes 

Six  ling'ring  years  were  there  his  tedious  lot  ; 
At  length,  content,  amid  his  rip'ning  store, 
He  treads  again  on  Britain's  happy  shore, 

And  his  long  absence  is  at  once  forgot. 

To  London,  with  impatient  hope,  he  flies, 
And  the  same  night,  as  former  freaks  arise, 

He  fain  must  stroll,  the  well  known  haunt  to  trace  y 
"  Ah,  here's  the  scene  of  frequent  mirth"  he  said, 
M  My  poor  old  Frenchman,  I  suppose,  is  dead — 

"  Egad,  I'll  knock,  and  see  who  holds  his  place." 


36  LODGINGS  FOR  SINGLE  GENTLEMEN 

With  rapid  strokes  he  makes  the  mansion  roar, 
And  while  he  eager  eyes  the  op'ning  door, 

Lo  1  who  obeys  the  knocker's  rattling  peal  ? 
Why  e'en  our  little  Frenchman,  strange  to  say  ! 
He  took  his  old  abode  that  very  day — 

Capricious  turn  of  sportive  Fortune's  wheel ! 

Without  one  thought  of  the  relentless  foe, 
Who,  fiend-like,  haunted  him  so  long  ago, 

Just  in  his  former  trim  he  now  appears ; 
The  waistcoat  and  the  night-cap  seem'd  the  same, 
With  rushlight  as  before,  he  creeping  came, 

And  King's  detested  voice,  astonish'd,  hears. 

As  if  some  hideous  spectre  struck  his  sight, 
His  senses  seem'd  bewilder'd  with  affright, 

His  face,  indeed,  bespoke  a  heart  full  sore 

Then  starting,  he  exclaim'd,  in  rueful  strain, 
u  Begar!  here  's  Monsieur  Tonson  come  again!" 

Away  he  ran — and  ne'er  was  heard  of  more  ! 


LODGINGS  FOR  SINGLE  GENTLEMEN. 

(  COL  MAX,    JUNIOR.) 

W  HO  has  e'er  been  in  London,  that  overgrown 

place, 
Has  seen  '  Lodgings  to  Let*  stare  him  full  in  the  face : 
Some  are  good,  and  let  dearly;  while  some,  'tis  well 

known, 
Are  so  dear,  and  so  bad,  they  are  best  let  alone. 

Will  Waddle,  whose  temper  was  studious  and 

lonely, 
Hired  lodgings  that  took  Single  Gentlemen  only ; 
But  Will  was  so  fat  he  appear'd  like  a  tun  ; — 
Or  like  two  Single  Gentlemen,  roll'd  into  One, 


bs 


^ 


X 


fes 


* 


LODGINGS  FOR  SINGLE  GENTLEMEN. 

lie  enter'd  his  rooms,  and  to  bed  he  retreated ; 
But,  all  the  night  long,  he  felt  fever'd,  and  heated  ; 
And,  tho'  heavy  to  weigh,  as  a  score  of  fat  sheep, 
He  was  not,  by  any  means,  heavy  to  sleep. 

Next  night  'twas  the  same ! — and  the  next ; — and 

the  next; 
He  perspired  like  an  ox ;  he  was  nervous,  and  vex'd ; 
Week  pass'd  after  week  ;  till  by  weekly  succession, 
His  weakly  condition  was  past  all  expi^^ion. 

In  six  months,  his  acquaintance  began  much  to  doubt 

him; 
For  his  skin,  '  like  a  lady's  loose  gown,'  hung  about 

him  ; 
He  sent  for  a  Doctor;  and  cried,  like  a  ninny, 
"  I  have  lost  many  pounds — make  we  well — there's 

a  guinea." 

The  Doctor  look'd  wise  :—r"  a  slow  fever,"  he  said  : 
Prescribed  sudorificks, — and  going  to  bed. 
ci  Sudorificksinbed,  (exclaim'd  Will,)  are  humbugs ; 
u  I  've  enough  of  them  there,  without  paying  for 
drugs." 

Will  kick'd  out  the  Doctor  : — but,  when  ill  indeed, 
E'en  dismissing  the  Doctor  don't  always  succeed  ; 
So,  calling  his  host, — he  said5 — "  Sir  do  you  know, 
"  I  'm  the  fat  single  Gentleman,  six  months  ago  ? 

"  Look  'e,  landlord,   I  think,"  argued  Will,  with  a 

grin, 
u  That  with  honest  intentions  you  first  took  me  in  ; 
"  But  from  the  first  night — and  to  say  it  I'm  bold — 
"  I  have  been  so  damn'd  hot,  that  I  'm  sure  I  caught 

cold," 

Quoth  the  landlord — «  till  now,  I  ne'er  had  a  dispute ; 
"  I  've  let  lodgings  ten  years ; — I  'm  a  Baker  to  boot; 


38  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  In  airing  your  sheets,  sir,  my  wife  is  no  sloven  ; 
"  And  your  bed  is  immediately- — over  my  Oven." 

«  The  Oven!!!"  says  Will— -says  the  host,  "  Why 

this  passion  ? 
"  In  that  excellent  bed  died  three  people  of  fashion. 
%k  Why  so  crusty,  good  sir?" — "Zounds"  cries  Will 

in  a  taking, 
ki  Who  would  't  be  crusty,  with  half  a  year's  baking  ?" 

"Will  paid  for  his  rooms;  cried  the  host,  with  a  sneer, 
u  Well,  I  see  you  *ve  been  going  away  half  a  year, 
"  Friend,  we  can't  well  agree" — "  yet  no  quarrel" — 

Will  said ; 
"  But  I'd  rather  not  jierish,  while  you  make  your 

dread." 


ADVENTURES  OF  YOUNG  WHIPSTITCH- 
A  TALE. 


A 


LONDON  tailor,  as  'tis  said, 
By  buckram,  canvas,  tape  and  thread, 
Sleeve-linings,  pockets,  silk  and  twist, 
And  all  the  long  expensive  list 
With  which  their  uncouth  bills  abound, 
Tho'  rarely  in  the  garment  found  ; 
By  these  and  other  arts  in  trade, 
Had  soon  a  pretty  fortune  made  ; 
And  did  what  few  had  ever  done, 
Left  thirty  thousand  to  his  son. 


The  son,  a  gay,  young  swagg'ring  blade, 
Abhorr'd  the  very  name  of  trade, 
And  lest  reflection  should  be  thrc 
On  him,  resoiv'd  to  quit  the  town, 
And  travel  where  he  was  not  know: 


cie, 

hrown  "} 

wn,  V 

known.  J 


YOUNG  WHIPSTITCH.  39 

In  gilded  coach  and  liv'ries  gay, 
To      xford  first  he  took  his  way  ; 
There  beaux  and  belles  his  taste  admire, 
His  equipage  and  rich  attire ; 
But  nothing  was  so  much  ador'd 
As  his  fine  silver-hilted  sword ; 
Tho'  short  and  small,  'twas  vastly  neat, 
The  sight  was  deem'd  a  perfect  treat. 
Beau  Ganter  begg'd  to  have  a  look, 
But  when  the  sword  in  hand  he  took, 
He  swore  by  G — d  it  was  an  odd  thing, 
And  look'd  much  like  a  tailor's  bodkin. 
His  pride  was  hurt  by  this  expression, 
Thinking  they  knew  his  sire's  profession; 
Sheathing  his  sword  he  sneak'd  away, 
And  drove  for  Glo'ster  that  same  day. 
There  soon  he  found  new  cause  for  grief; 
For  dining  off  some  fine  roast  beef, 
One  ask'd  him  which  he  did  prefer, 
Some  cabbage  or  a  cucumber  ? 
The  purse-proud  coxcomb  took  the  hint. 
Thought  it  severe  reflection  meant; 
His  stomach  turn'd,  he  could  not  eat, 
So  made  an  ungenteel  retreat ; 
Next  day  left  Glo'ster  in  great  wrath, 
And  bade  his  coachman  drive  to  Bath. 
There  he  suspected  fresh  abuse, 
Because  the  dinner  was  roast  goose : 
And  that  he  might  no  more  be  jeer'd 
Next  day  to  Exeter  he  steer'd, 
There  with  some  bucks  he  drank  about, 
Until  he  fear'd  they  found  him  out ; 
His  glass  not  full,  as  was  the  rule, 
They  said  'twas  not  a  thimble  full ; 
The  name  of  thimble  was  enough, 
He  paid  his  reck'ning  and  went  off. 
He  then  to  Plymouth  took  a  trip, 
And  put  up  at  the  Royal  Ship, 
Which  then  was  kept  by  Caleb 


l  uu, 

*  \ 

Snip.  J 


40  EPIGRAM. 

"  Snip,  Snip,"  the  host  was  often  call'd, 

At  which  his  guest  was  so  much  gall'd, 

That  soon  to  Cambridge  he  remov'd, 

There  too  he  unsuccessful  prov'd : 

For  tho'  he  fill'd  his  glass  or  cup, 

He  did  not  always  drink  it  up  : 

The  scholars  mark'd  how  he  behav'd, 

And  said  a  remnant  sha'n't  be  sav'd  : 

The  name  of  remnant  gall'd  him  so 

That  he  resolv'd  to  York  he'd  go  : 

There  fill'd  his  bumper  to  the  top, 

And  always  fairly-  drank  it  up  : 

"  Well  done,"  says  Jack,  a  buck  of  York, 

"  You  go  thro'  stitch,  sir,  with  your  work." 

The  name  of  stitch  was  such  reproach, 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  call'd  his  coach. 

But  ere  he  went,  enquiries  made,  „ 

By  what  strange  means  they  knew  his  trade. 

"  You  put  the  cap  on,  and  it  fits," 
Reply'd  one  of  the  Yorkshire  wits  ; 
"  Our  words,  in  common  acceptation, 
"  Could  not  find  out  your  occupation  ; 
"  5Twas  you  yourself  gave  us  the  clue, 
"  To  find  out  both  your  trade  and  you. 
"  Vain  coxcombs,  and  fantastic  beaux 
"  In  ev'ry  place  themselves  expose  ; 
"  They  travel  far  at  vast  expense, 
"  To  shew  their  wealth  and  want  of  sense  : 
"  But  take  this  for  a  standing  rule, 
"  There  's  no  disguise  can  screen  afoot** 


EPIGRAM. 

J\.  DRUNKEN  old  Scot,  by  the  rigorous  sentence 
Of  the  Kirk,  was  condemn'd  to  the  stool  of  repent- 
ance ; 


THE  OLD  BATCHELOR.  41 

Mess  John  to  his  conscience  his  vices  lac'd  home, 
And  his  danger  in  this  and  the  world  that's  to  come; 
"  Thou  reprobate  mortal!  why,  doth  thou  not  know, 
"  Where,  after  you  're  dead,  all  you  drunkards  must 

go  ?"—  " 
"  Must  go  when  we  're  dead!    Why,  sir,  you   may 

swear, 
"  We  shall  go,  one  and  all,  where  we  find  the  best 

beer." 


PARODY 

ON 

ROMEO'S  DESCRIPTION  OF  AN  APOTHECARY 


(magazine  of  wit.) 


I 


DO  remember  an  old  Batchelor, 
And  hereabouts  he  dwells — whom  late  I  noted 
In  suit  of  sables,  with  a  care-worn  brow, 
Conning  his  books — and  meagre  were  his  looks 
Celibacy  had  worn  him  to  the  bone  ; 
And  in  his  silent  parlour  hung  a  coat, 
The  which  the    .ioths  had  used  not  less  than  he. 
Four  chairs,  one  table,  and  an  old  hair  trunk, 
Made  up  the  furniture  ;  and  on  his  shelves 
A  grease-clad  candle-stick,  a  broken  mug, 
Two  tumblers,  and  a  box  of  old  segars  ; 
Remnants  of  volumes,  once  in  some  repute, 
Were  thinly  scatter'd  round,  to  tell  the  eye 
Of  prying  stranger — this  man  had  no  wife. 
His  tatter'd  elbow  gap'd  most  piteously  ; 
And  ever,  as  he  turn'd  him  round,  his  skin 
Did  through  his  stockings  peep  upon  the  day 
Noting  his  gloom,  unto  myself  I  said, 
An  if  a  man  did  covet  single  life, 
Reckless  of  joys  that  matrimony  give, 

d  2 


42         THE  APPLE-DUMPLIftGS  AND  A  KING 

Here  lives  a  gloomy  wretch  would  shew  it  him 
In  such  most  dismal  colours,  that  the  shrew, 
Or  slut,  or  ideot,  or  the  gossip  spouse, 
Were  each  an  heaven  compar'd  with  such  a  life. 


THE  APPLE-DUMPLINGS  AND  A  KING. 

(PINDAR.) 

v/  NCE  on  a  time,  a  monarch,  tir'd  with  whooping. 
Whipping  and  spurring, 
Happy  in  worrying 
A  poor,  defenceless,  harmless  buck ; 
The  horse  and  rider,  wet  as  muck : 
From  his  high  consequence  and  wisdom  stooping, 
Enter'd,  through  curiosity  a  cot, 
Where  sat  a  poor  old  woman,  with  her  pqt. 

The  wrinkled,  blear-eyed,  good  old  granny, 
In  this  same  cot,  illum'd  by  many  a  cranny ; 

Had  finisji'tl  apple-dumplings  for  her  pot. 
In  tempting  row,  the  naked  dumplings  lay  ; 
When  lo !  the*rnonarch,  in  his  usual  way, 

Like  lightjflHttp^e, "  What 's  this  ?  what 's  this  ? 
what  i^HP 

Then  taking^t'a  dumpling  in  his  hand, 
His  eyes  witntNilMration,  did  expand  : 

And  oft  did  majeS^it^dumpling  grapple  : 
*'  'Tis  monstrous,  monstrous  harcL -indeed  !"  he  cry'd. 
"  What  makes  it,  pray,  so  hard  ?<HHRTdame  reply'd, 

Low  curtsying,  "  Please  your  majesty,  the  apple.'' 

"  Very  astonishing,  indeed  !  strange  thing  !" 
'Turning  the  dumpling  round,  rejoin'd  the  king) 

w  'Tis  most  extraordinary,  then,  all  this  is  ; 

"  It  beats  Pinetti's  conj'ring  all  to  pieces. 


THE  ALMANAC  MAKER.  4S 

"  Strange,  I  should  never  of  a  dumpling  dream  ! 
"  But,  goody,  tell  me,  where,  where,  where  's  the 
seam  ?" 

"  Sir,  there  's  no  seam  (quoth  she)  I  never  knew* 
u  That  folks  did  apple  dumplings  sew  ;"— 
"  No  1"  cry'd  the  staring  monarch,  with  a  grin ; 
"  How,  how  the  devil,  got  the  apple  in  I" 


W 


THE  ALMANAC  MAKER. 


(frexeau.) 


HILE  others  dwell  on  mean  affairs, 
Monarchs,  their  councils,  and  their  wars, 
Philaster  roves  among  the  stars. 

In  melancholy  silence,  he 
Travels  alone,  and  cannot  see 
An  equal  for  his  company. 

r 

Not  one  of  all  the  learned  train 
Like  him  can  manage  Charles's  wain, 
Or  motion  of  the  moon  expl^k^ 

He  tells  us  when  the  sun  will  rise, 
Points  out  fair  days,  or  clouded  ski( 
No  matter  if  he  sometimes  lies 


An  annual  almanac  to  frame, 
And  publish  with  fictitious  name, 
Is  all  his  labour,  all  his  aim. 

He  every  month  has  something  new 
And  mostly  deals  in  what  is  true, 
Informing  all,  and  cheating  few. 


44  THE  ALMANAC  MAKER. 

Our  sister  moon,  the  stars,  the  sun, 
In  measured  circles  round  him  run; 
He  knows  their  motions-— every  one. 

The  solar  system  at  his  will — 
To  mortify  such  daring  skill, 
The  comets — they  are  rebels  still. 

Advancing  in  its  daily  race, 

He  calculate 's  each  planet's  place  ; 

Nor  can  the  moon  elude  his  chace. 

In  dark  eclipse  when  she  would  hide 
And  be  awhile  the  cloistered  bride, 
He  pulls  her  veil  of  crape  aside. 

Each  passing  age  must  have  its  taste  :- 
The  sun  is  in  the  centre  placed, 
And  fuel  must  supply  his  waste ; 

But  how  to  find  it  he  despairs, 
Nor  will  he  leave  his  idle  cares, 
Or  Jove  to  mind  his  own  affairs. 

He  prophesies  the  sun's  decay  ; 
And  while  he  would  his  fate  delay, 
New  sorrows  on  his  spirits  prey. 

The  pole  has  left  its  ancient  track, 
The  signs  are  all  a  going  back, 
Indeed  they  are  a  stubborn  pack. 

So  much  upon  his  shoulders  laid, 
He  reads  what  Aristotle  said  ; 
Then  calls  the  comets  to  his  aid. 

The  people  of  the  lunar  sphere 
(As  lie  can  plainly  make  appear} 
Are  coming  nearer,  year  by  year. 


THE  INDIAN  CONVERT.  4.5 

Though  others  often  gaze  in  vain, 
Not  one  of  all  the  starry  train 
Could  ever  puzzle  his  strong  brain. 

The  ram,  the  twins,  the  shining  goat, 
And  Argo  in  the  skies  afloat, 
To  him  are  things  of  little  note  : 

And  that  which  now  adorns  the  bear, 
(T  heard  him  say)  the  sailor's  star, 
Will  be,  in  time,  the  lord  knows  where  ; 

Will  shine  he  says,  in  southern  skies, 
And  be  observed  by  other  eyes, 
Which  now  to  see  him  he  defies. 

Thus  Nature  waiting  at  his  call, 

His  book,  in  vogue  with  great  and  small, 

Is  sought,  admired,  and  read  by  all. 

How  happy  thus  on  earth  to  stay, 
The  planets  keeping  him  in  pay — 
And  when  'tis  time  to  post  away, 

Old  Saturn  will  a  bait  prepare, 
And  hook  him  up  from  toil  and  care 
To  make  new  calculations  there. 


THE  INDIAN  CONVERT. 

(AMERICAN   MUSEUM.) 

W  HEN  our  fathers  were  driv'n  by  British  pp.- 

pression, 
Of  their  dear  native  country  to  quit  the  possession, 
And  fled  to  this  land  to  enjoy  their  opinions, 
They  were  welcom'd  by  Indians  to  Indian  dominion s. 


46  MONSIEUR  KANIFERSTAXE. 

Now  zealous  to  propagate  christian  religion 

In  such  an  idolatrous,  ignorant,  region, 

They  courted  the  natives  with  generous  liquor, 

Expecting  that  they'd  become  christians  the  quicker. 

In  a  neighbouring  wigwam  resided  two  brothers, 
The  heathen  was  one's  faith,  but  christian  the  other's, 
To  the  English  his  visits  were  frequent  and  pleasant, 
They  gave  him  good  liquor  and  many  a  present. 

The  heathen  begrudg'd  the  good  luck  of  his  brother, 
And  resolved  to  share  with  him  some  way  or  other, 
"  How  is  it,"  quoth  he,  "  the  white  folks  are  so 

friendly, 
M  To  make  you  such   presents,  and  treat  vou  so 

kindly  ?" 
He  answer'd,  "  I  give  them  a  piece  out  of  scripture, 
u  And  now  and  then  quote  them  apiece  of  a  chapter; 
f*  This  pleases  them  well,  and  good  cider  they  give, 
"  If  you  do  the  same,  the  same  you  '11  receive." 


Quoth  he  to  himself,  "  So  I  will  if  I  'm  able," 
Then  getting  some  names  by  rote  from  the  bible, 
He  went  and  sat  himself  down  on  the  floor, 
And  said  "Adam,  Eve,  Cain,  the  Devil,  Job,  Koar." 

He  was  ask'd,  with  surprise,  what  he  meant  by  all 

this? 
Quoth  he,  "  I  mean  cider,  why  could  not  you  guess  ?'' 


MONSIEUR  KANIFERSTANE. 


O 


NCE  on  a  time,  a  little  French  Marquis 

For  travel  felt  a  mighty  inclination  : 
To  shew  himself  and  foreign  parts  to  see, 

He  undertook  a  bold  peregrination. 
At  Dieppe,  he  found  a  sloop  just  under  weigh, 

By  Dutchmen  mann'd,  and  bound  for  Amsterdam ; 


MONSIEUR  KANIFERSTANE.  47 

Wind  and  tide  serving,  off  he  sail'd  away, 
And,  soon  sea-sick,  beyond  finesse  or  sham, 

Close  in  the  cabin  he  preferr'd  to  nestle, 

There,  faint  and  languid,  for  a  space  he  doz'd; 

Till,  from  the  increas'd  commotion  in  the  vessel, 
That  land  might  be  in  sight  he  well  suppos'd ; 

So  to  the  deck  he  climb'd  with  empty  maw, 

And,  sure  enough,  Dutch  terra  firma  saw. 

While  in  the  cabin  sick  and  sad  he  lay, 

Tho'  a  true  Frenchman,  he  ne'er  dreamt  of  talking ; 
But,  when  on  deck,  his  spirits  grew  more  gay, 

And  his  blood  'gan  to  circulate  with  walking, 
He  recollected  that  he  had  a  tongue. 

Now,  tho*  a  Frenchman,  French  with  ease   can 
jabber, 
And,  doubtless,  thinks  all  other  ears  are  hung 

Like  those  he  left  at  home,  yet  a  Dutch  swabber 
Is  apt  enough  no  other  speech  to  know 
Than  that  which  first  he  learn'd  from  Mother  Frovj. 

Such  was  the  case  of  all  the  trunk-hos'd  crew. 

The  marquis,  struck  with  wonder  and  delight, 
Enraptur'd  gaz'd  on  objects  all  so  new; 

At  length  a  sumptuous  palace  caught  his  sight, 
WThich,  proudly  rising  from  the  water's  side, 

Shew'd  its  new-painted  front  with  flow'rets  gay, 
While  trim  responsive  gardens  spreading  wide, 

Display'd  Dutch  taste  in  regular  array. 

Anxious  to  know  who  own'd  the  pleasing  scene, 

The  marquis  bowing,  with  a  grinning  face, 
Demanded  of  a  tar,  in  French  I  ween, 

"  To  whom  belong'd  that  mostenchanting  place  r" 
The  tar,  who  knew  as  much  of  French  as  Greek, 

Ey'd  him  at  first  with  something  like  disdain ; 
Then,  as  he  shifted  round  his  quid  to  speak, 

With  growling   voice,  cry'd,  "  Ik  kan  niet  ver- 
ataan"* 

*  This  means,  "  /  do  not  understand  you." 


iS  MONSIEUR  KANIFERSTANE. 

"  Oh!  oh"  reply'cl  the  marquis,  "  does  it  so 
To  Monsieur  Kaniferstane,  lucky  man  1 

The  palace  to  be  sure,  lies  rather  low; 

But,  then,  the  size  and  grandeur  of  the  plan  \ 

I  never  saw  a  chateau  on  the  Seine, 

Equal  to  this  of  Monsieur  Kaniftrstane" 

While  he  thus  spoke,  the  sailors  anchor  cast, 

As  the  marquis  descended  on  the  quay, 
He  saw  a  charming  frow  that  chanc'd  to  pass, 

In  liveliest  bloom  of  youth  and  beauty  gay, 
Bedeck'd  with  all  the  Amsterdam  parade 

Of  gold  and  silver,  pearls  and  jewels  rare ; 
On  the  marquis  she  much  impression  made  ; 

His  tender  breast  soon  own'd  a  pleasing  flame  ; 
Stopping  a  passenger,  he,  bowing  said, 

"  Monsieur,  pray  tell  me  who's  that  lovely  dame:'* 
The  civil  Dutchman  bow'd  to  him  again,    . 
And  gently  answer'd,  "  Ik  kan  niet  vcrstaan." 

li  What!   Monsieur  Kaniferstane's  wife!"  the  mar- 
quis cry'd, 

"  He  who  has  got  yon  gay  and  sumptuous  house ! 
Well  1  that  some  men  have  luck  can  't  be  deny'd  ; 

What!  such  an  edifice,  and  such  a  spouse! 
Ma  foi!   I  think  I  never  should  complain, 
Had  I  the  lot  of  Monsieur  Kaniferstane." 

As  on  the  morrow,  through  the  streets  he  pass'd, 

Gazing  on  the  pretty  sights  about, 
On  a  large  open  hall  his  sight  he  cast, 

Where  bustling  crowds  were  going  in  and  out. 
Joining  the  throng,  he  entrance  soon  obtain'd, 

And  found  the  people  much  engaged  to  see 
The  numbers  which  the  blanks  and  prizes  gain'd 

In  their  high  mightinesses'  lotterv- 
Some  laugh'd,  some  wept,  some  groan'd,  and  some 
exclaim'd, 

In  all  the  spirit  of  true  castle-builders, 
When,  on  a  sudden,  a  loud  voice  proclaim'd 

The  sov'rcign  prize  of  twenty  thousand  guilders  ! 


THE  TOPER  AND  THE  FLIES.  49 

M  And  who,"  the  marquis  cry'd,  to  one  close  by, 
"  Who  has  the  luck  this  mighty  prize  to  gain  ?" 

The  man  survey'd  him  with  a  doubtful  eye, 
And  slowly  answer'd,  "  Ik  kan  niet  vemtaan" 

li  What !  Monsieur  Kanlferstanc  got  the  prize  I" 
The  marquis  cry'd,  "  he  's  lucky  on  my  life  ; 

He  who  has  got  a  house  of  such  a  size, 
And  such  a  garden,  too,  and  such  a  wife ! 

Diable !  you  may  very  well  be  vain, 

With  all  these  treasures,  Monsieur  Kanlferstanc I" 

A  week  or  two  elaps'd  when,  as  he  stray'd, 

On  novelty  intent,  he  chanc'd  to  meet, 
Adorn'd  with  solerr.n  pomp  and  grave  parade, 

A  sumptuous  burial  coming  up  the  street : 
"  Monsieur,"  said  he,  as  bowing  to  a  baker, 

Who  left  his  shop  the  pageantry  to  see, 
And  just  had  nodded  to  the  undertaker, 

"  Pray,  Monsieur,  whose  grand  burial  may  this  be  ?" 
The  baker,  as  he  turn'd  to  shop  again, 
Reply 'd  most  gravely,  "  Ik  kan  niet  verstaan.'* 

u  Mon  Dieui"  exclaim'd  the  marquis,  "  what  pity  1 
Monsieur  Kaniferstane  I  what  surprize  ! 

He  had  the  noblest  palace  in  this  city! 

And  such  a  wife  !  and  such  a  glorious  prize  ! 

Alack  !  alack  !  good  fortune  smiles  in  vain; 

So  rest  in  peace,  good  Monsieur  Kaniferstane .'" 


THE  TOPER  AND  THE  FLIES. 

(PINDAR.) 

J\.  GROUP  of  topers  at  a  table  sat, 

Witfi  punch,  that  much  regales  the  thirsty  soul : 
Flies  soon  the  party  join'd,  and  join'd  the  chat, 

Humming,  and  pitching, round  the  mantling  bowl. 


50  THE  PETTIFOGGER. 

At  length  those  flies  got  drunk  ;  and  for  their  sin, 
Some  hundreds  lost  their  legs  and  tumbled  in ; 
And  sprawling  'midst  the  gulph  profound, 
Like  Pharaoh  and  his  daring  host,  were  drown'd. 

Wanting  to  drink — one  of  the  men 

Dipp'd  from  the  bowl  the  drunken  host, 

And  drank — then,  taking  care  that  none  were  lost. 

He  put  in  ev'ry  mother's  son  agen. 

Up  jump'd  the  Bacchanalian  crew,  on  this, 
Taking  it  very  much  amiss — 

Swearing,  and  in  the  attitude  to  smite  : 

"  Lord !  (cry'd  the  man,  with  gravely-lifted  eyes) 
"  Though  I  don't  like  to  swallow  flies, 

"  I  did  not  know  but  others  might" 


THE  PETTIFOGGER,  or  FEE  SIMPLE,  Esq. 

(frexeau.) 

XN  a  town  I  could  mention,  a  lawyer  resided 
As  cunning  as  Satan,  and  fond  of  disputes ; 

In  wrangles  and  quarrels  he  ever  confided, 
To  keep  on  his  docket  a  long  string  of  suits. 

Of  little  importance,  nay,  paltry  and  mean, 
The  matter  contested,  a  pig  or  a  hen ; 

But  one  thing  he  stuck  to,  he  ever  was  seen 
To  have  for  his  pleading  just  one  pound  ten. 

With  pleasure  he  saw  that  the  quarrels  increased, 
Each  day  he  had  business  from  wranglesome  men. 

But  all  to  the  'squire  was  a  holiday  feast 

WThile  he  got  his  dear  fee,  the  one  pound  ten. 

A  parchment,  Caveto,  hung  up  in  his  hall, 

Which  cautioned  the  reader  to  read  and  attend. 


*  PATIENCE.  51 

That  for  one  pound  ten,  he  would  quibble  and  brawl, 
Twist,  lie,  and  do  all  things  a  cause  to  defend. 

Sometimes  when  the  limits  of  lots  were  disputed, 
He  would  put  all  to  rights  in  the  turn  of  a  straw ; 

From  the  tenth  of  an  inch  he  his  pocket  recruited, 
Till  he  made  the  two  parties  curse  lawyer  and  law. 

Thus  matters  went  on,  ami  the  lawyer  grown  rich, 
Fed  high,  and  swilled  wine  till  the  dropsy  began 

To  bloat  up  his  guts  to  so  monstrous  a  pitch, 
You  would  hardly  have  known  him  to  be  the  same- 
man. 

At  last  he  departed,  and  when  he  had  died, 
His  worship  arriving  at  Beelzebub's  den  ; 

Mow  much  is  the  entrance  (demanded the  guide? — ) 
Old  Devil  made  answer,  "  'Tis  one  pound  ten." 


PATIENCE. 

A  W  AS  atsome  country  place,  a  parson  preaching. 
The  virtue  of  long  sufferance  was  teaching : 
And  so  pathetically  did  exhort 
His  list'ning  congregation,  and  in  short 
Discours'd  so  much  of  Job,  and  how  he  bore 
With  such  exceeding  pleasantry  his  woes, 
Faith  'twas  enough  to  make  a  man  suppose 
Job  wis'd  for  more. 

Meaning,  perhaps,  that  since  'tis  plain, 
How  needlessly  Ave  grieve  at  pain  ; 

How  would  it  be  if  man 

Pursu'd  a  different  plan, 
And  were  to  laugh  and  treat  the  matter  light  h  . 

And  not,  when  tortur'd  with  the  gout, 

To  make  wry  faces,  roar  and  shout. 
But  look  agreeable  and  sprightly. 


52  PATIENCE. 

"  And  pray,  d'ye  think,  my  dearest  life,'' 
fixclaim'd  the  parson's  wife, 

As  ufter  church  they  sat, 

In  courteous  chat, 
"  That  'tis  in  human  nature  to  endure 

"  The  sad  extremity  of  woe, 

"  That  Job,  you  say,  did  undergo  ? 
«  'Tis  more  than  you  or  I  could  do,  I  'm  sure.*' 

u  My  dear,"  quoth  he,  "  this  diffidence, 
11  Shews,  let  me  tell  you,  great  good  sense, 

"  A  talent  in  your  sex  we  seldom  sec  ; 
"  And  doubtless  the  remark  is  true, 
"  As  far  as  it  extends  to  you, 

"  Tho'  not,  I  think,  to  inc. 

•k  No  woman,  since  the  world  began, 
"  Could  bear  misfortune  like  a  man — 

■-  Andhj  good  truth,  'twixtyou  and  me, 

"  And  that  without  much  vanity, 
&  I  do  conceive  that  I  myself  have  shewn 

u  That  patience  and  that  strength  of  mind 

"  Were  not  entirely  confin'd 
•;  To  Job  alone." 

Thus  said  the  modest  priest,  and  would  have  said 

much  more, 
But  for  the  sudden  opening  of  the  door, 

When  out  of  breath,  in  stumps 

His  clownish  servant  "  Numps," 
His  mouth  wide  open,  on  the  parson  gazing — 

Just  like  the  wight, 

Who  drew  old  Priam's  curtains  in  the  night, 
To  tell  him  Troy  was  blazing. 

"  Well,  Numps,  the  matter  ?  speak !  why   look's! 

so  pale  1 
"  Has  any  thing  gone  wrong  ?"  quoth  Numps,  "  the 
ale." 
4C  What,"  cries  the  priest,  "  the  ale  gone  sour?" 
(And  then  his  phiz  began  to  lower ;) 


EPIGRAM.  oo 

<•  Tum'd  sour  ?  no  measter,  no,"  reply'dthe  fellow; 

"  But  just  now,  as  I  went,  d'  ye  see, 

"  To  tilt  the  cask — away  rolled  he, 
"  And  all  the  liquor's  spilt  about  the  cellar." 

The  fact  was,  Numps  a  cask  of  ale  had  stav'd  : 
Now,  pry  thee,  tell  me,  how  the  priest  behav'd  ? 

Did  he  pull  off  his  wig,  or  tear  his  hair  ? 
Or  like  that  silly  fellow  Job, 
Throw  ashes  on  his  head,  or  rend  his  robe  ? 

Say,  how  did  he  this  dire  misfortune  bear  ; 
And  thus,  in  voice  of  pious  resignation, 
He  to  this  man  address'd  this  mild  oration  : 

"  May  God  confound  thee,  thou  d — n'd  stupid  bear; 

(The  best  of  priests,  you  know,  will  sometimes  swear) 
"  What,  you  must  meddle,  must  ye 
"  With  the  barrel,  and  be  curst  t*  ye  ? 

"  I  wish  thy  paws  were  in  the  fire — Odd  rot  'm-~ 
"  Get  thee  down  stairs,  this  instant,  wretch, 
"  Or  by  the  living  G — d,  I  '11  kick  thy  breech 

d  From  top  to  bottom." 

l*  Nay,  now,  my  dearest,"  cried  the  dame, 
v<  Is  this  your  patience  ? — Fie  for  shame  I 

"  I  beg  you  '11  recollect  your  text, 

"  Job  was  not  half  so  vext 
**  When  he  'd  his  sons  and  daughters  to  bewail." 

"  D — n  all  his  sons  and  daughters  if  you  choosi 

"  Answer  me  this,  I  say — did  Job  o'er  lose 
a  A  barrel  of  such  ale  ?" 


EPIGRAM 
ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  NOTED  KXAYE. 

IF  heav'n  be  pleas'd  when  sinners  cease  to  sin— - 
If  hell  be  pleas'd,  when  sinners  enter  in — ■ 
If  earth  be  pleas'd,  freed  from  a  truckling  knave — 
Then  all  are  pleas'd is  in  his  grave. 

f  2 


$4 

THE  SEGAR. 
A  PARODY  ON  SAPPHO'S  ODE, 

(TRANSLATED  BY   PHILLIPS.) 

DLEST  as  old  Homer's  gods  is  he, 
The  man,  at  night  from  trouble  free, 
Who  in  the  chimney-corner  smokes, 
Gaily  talks,  and  blithly  jokes. 

Tis  this,  that  oft  hath  sooth'd  my  breast, 
And  added  sharpness  to  the  jest. 
Wit,  beaming  'midst  the  smoking  croud', 
Appears  like  Sol  behind  a  cloud. 
Smoke  solid  pleasure  can  impart ; 
1Tis  this  that  oft  has  cheer'd  my  heart  ; 
For,  while  I  smoke,  in  fancy  gay, 
I  nod,  and  smile,  and  puff  away. 


VERSES 

OX  THE  CREW  OF  A  CERTAIN  VESSEL, 

Several  of  xvkom  happened  to  be  of  the  same  i\"ame  -a-ich 
celebrated  Clergymen. 

(freneau.) 

XN  life's  unsettled,  odd  career, 
What  changes  every  day  appear 

To  please  or  plague  the  eye  ! 
A  goodly  brotherhood  of  priests 
Are  here  transform'd  to  swearing  beasts, 

That  heaven  and  hell  defy. 

Here  Bonner,  bruis'd  with  many  a  knock, 
Has  changed  his  surplice  for — a  frock  : 
Old  Erskine  swabs  the  deck  : 


1 


n: 

v 


53 

And  Watts,  that  once  such  pleasure  took, 
Tn  writing  hymns,  here  grown  a  cook, 
Sinners  no  longer  vex. 

Here  Burnet,  Tillotson,  and  Blair, 
With  Jemmy  Hervey,  curse,  and  swear : 

Here  Cudworth  mixes  grog ; 
Pearson  the  crew  to  dinner  hails, 
A  graceless  Sherlock  trims  the  sails, 

And  Bunyan  heaves  the  log. 


I 


ANNE— OR,  THE  GRACES 

(AMERICAN   MUSEUM.) 


NSTRUCTED  to  hold  up  her  head ; 
With  grace  to  sing,  with  grace  to  tread—- 
With  grace  to  talk  on  love-affairs — 
With  grace  at  church  to  say  her  prayers. 
With  grace  her  parents  to  confute, 
With  grace  on  morals  to  dispute, 
At  last  fell  Anne  (such  oft  the  case  is) 
A  sacrifice  to  all  the  graces. 


A  CATCH 
TO  A  COMPANY  OF  BAD  FIDDLE-SCRAPEftS 

(AMERICAN   MUSEUM.) 

iVXAY  ye  never  play  in  tune. 
In  the  morning,  night,  or  noon : 
May  you  ne'er  at  noon  or  night, 
Know  the  wrong  end  from  the  right, 

May  the  strings  be  ever  breaking, 
Pegs,  I  charge  ye,  ne'er  unscrew  i 

May  your  heads  be  always  aching, 
Till  the  fiddle  's  broke  in  \\xo. 


$6  THE  SUICIDE 

EPIGRAM 

(AMERICAN   MUSEUM.) 

X  TELL  thee,  dear  girl,  and  believe  me,  'tis  true. 

I  never  beheld  such  a  creature  as  you. 

Such  wit  J  and  such  beauty  ! — such  taste  and  such 

pride  ! 
Thou  ne'er  hadst  an  equal  since  Jezabel  died. 
Fine  shape,  and  fine  face,  with  a  simper  so  thievish  ! 
Yet  artful,  deceitful,  ill  natur'd,  and  peevish. 
God  moulded  thy  face,  but  the  devil  thy  heart : 
What  a  pity  that  Satan  should  spoil  the  best  part ! 


THE  SUICIDE. 

(AMERICAN   MUSEUM.) 

Yirginibus  puerisg  ;  canto.     Hor.  hi.  Od.  i. 


s 


CENES  of  mirth  and  joy,  farewcl  \ 

Sadly  let  the  muse  complain  : 
Let  her  seek  to  move  the  tear. 
Sympathetic  and  sincere ; 

Render  not  her  efforts  vain. 

Ye,  who  tender  passions  know, 

Listen,  to  this  tale  of  woe '; 

Ye  whose  breasts  with  pity  burn*  4*fv 

Drop  a  tear  on  Damon's  urn. 

And  you,  ye  fair,  example  take 

From  this  affecting  story  ; 
Nor  still  persist  the  hearts  to  break* 

Of  lovers  who  adore  ye. 

Who  to  your  charms  shall  make  pretence- 

And  with  addresses  teaze  you, 
If  virtue,  beauty,  wit,  and  sense 

In  vain  combinc*to  please  you  ? 


THE  CARPENTER  AND  THE  COFFINS.  57 

Let  Damon's  fate  your  pity  share  ; 

Long  sought  he  Chloe's  heart  to  gain ; 
But  Chloe,  cruel,  cruel  fair, 

Retuxn'd  his  passion  with  disdain. 

Lo  !  at  her  feet  he  sues  for  grace  ; 

Sighs,  more  than  words,  his  flame  discover; 
Whilst,  trickling  down  his  beauteous  face, 

The  big  round  drops  confess  the  lover  ! 

In  vain  his  tears,  in  vain  his  sighs — 

For  Chloe,  frowning,  bids  him  leave  her  : 

u  Yes,  I  '11  obey  her,"  Damon  cries, 
"  And  rather  die  than  grieve  her." 

lie  draws  his  sword  in  wild  despair  ; 

(Poor  Chloe  trembled,  wept,  and  blabbered) 
Three  times  he  flourish'd  it  in  air, 

Then  plung'd  it  in — the  scabbard  ! 


THE  PLYMOUTH  CARPENTER,  AND  Till 
COFFINS. 

(PINDAR.) 

IN  the  last  war,  French  pris'ners  often  dy'd, 
Of  fevers,  colds,  and  more  good  things  beside — 

Presents  for  valour,  from  damp  Avails  and  chinks, 
And  nakedness,  that  seldom  sees  a  shirt ; 
And  vermin,  and  all  sorts  of  dirt ; 

And  multitudes  of  motley  stinks, 
That  might  with  smells  of  any  clime  compare, 
That  ever  sought  the  nose,  or  fields  of  air. 

As  coffins  are  deem'd  necessary  things, 
Forming  a  pretty  sort  of  wooden  wings, 

For  waiting  men  to  graves,  for  t'  other  world  ; 


58  THE  CARPENTER  AND  THE  COFFINS. 

Where  anchor'd,  (doom'dtomake  no  voyages  more 
The  rudders  of  our  souls  are  put  ashore, 
And  all  the  sails  for  ever  furl'd. 

A  carpenter,  first  cousin  to  the  may'r, 

Hight  Master  Screw,  a  man  of  reputation, 

Got  leave,  through  borough-int'rest,  to  prepare 
Good  wooden  lodgings,  for  the  Gallic  nation — 

I  mean,  for  luckless  Frenchmen,  that  were  dead  ; 

And  very  well  indeed  Screw's  contract  sped. 

His  good  friend,  Death,  made  wonderful  demands, 
As  if  they  play'd  into  each  other's  hands ; 
As  if  the  Carpenter  and  Death  went  snacks ; 

Wishing  to  make  as  much,  as  erer  they  could, 

By  this  same  contract  coffin-wood, 
For  such  as  Death  had  thrown  upon  their  backs. 

This  Carpenter,  like  men  of  other  trades, 
Whom  conscience  very  easily  persuades, 

To  take  from  neighbours  useless  superfluity  , 
Resolv'd  upon  an  economic  plan, 
Which  shews,  that  in  the  character  of  man, 

Economy  is  not  an  incongruity. 

I  know,  some  monarchs  say  the  same — whose  pulse  s 
Beat  high,  for  iv'ry  chairs,  and  beds,  and  bulses. 
Tor,  lo  !  this  man  of  economic  sort 
Made  all  his  coffins  much  too  short. 
Yet  snugly  he  accommodates  the  uead—^ 
Cuts  off,  with  much  sang  froidy  the  head, 
And  then  to  keep  it  safe,  as  well  as  warm, 
He  gravely  puts  it  underneath  the  arm  ; 
Making  the  dead  man  quite  a  Paris  beau! 
Holding  his  jowl  en  bras  ehafieau. 


THE  FOREST  BE  At  39 


LINES, 

Copied  from  a  Board  over  the  Boor  of  John  GroV?,  of  White 
JVahhum,  Berks,  England. 

J  OHN  GROVE,  grocer,  and  dealer  in  coffee  and 

tea, 
Sells  the  finest  of  Congo's  and  best  of  Bohea; 
A  dealer  in  coppice,  a  meas'rer  of  land, 
Sells  the  finest  of  snuffs,  and  the  finest  white  sand. 
A  singer  of  psalms,  and  a  scriv'ner  of  money ; 
Collects  the  land-tax,  and  sells  fine  virgin's  honey. 
A  ragman,  a  carrier,  a  baker  of  bread, 
And  a  clerk  to  the  living  as  well  as  the  dead  : 
Vestry   clerk,   petty  constable  ;    sells   scissars  and 

knives, 
Best  Virginia,  and  buckles,  collects  the  small  tythes ; 
Is  a  treas'rer  to  clubs,  and  maker  of  wills ; 
He   surveys   men's  estates,  and  vends  Anderson's 

pills. 
Woollen-draper,  and  hosier;  sells  all  sorts  of  shoes ; 
With  the  best  earthen  ware ;  also  takes  in  the  news. 
Deals  in  hurdles  and  eggs  ;    sells  the  best  of  small 

beer, 
The  finest  sea  coals,  and  's  elected  o'erseer, 
Deputy  surveyor;  sells  fine  writing  paper; 
Has  a  vote  for  the  county — and  linen-draper, 
A  dealer  in  cheese,  and  the  best  Hampshire  bacon- 
Plays  the  fiddle  divinely,  if  I  'm  not  mistaken. 


THE  FOREST  BEAU. 

(freneau.) 

W  HEN   first  to   feel  love's  fire   Jack   Straw 

begins, 
He  combs  his  hair,  and  cocks  his  hat  with  pins, 
Views  in  some  stream,  his  face,  with  fond  regard, 
Plucks  from  his  upper  lip  the  bristly  beard, 


THE  ROYAL  SHEEP. 

With  soap  and  sand  his  homely  visage  scours 

(Rough  from  the  joint  attacks  of  sun  and  showers) 

The  sheepskin  breeches  decorate  his  thighs — 

Next  on  his  back  the  homespun  coat  he  tries  ; 

Round  his  broad  breast  he  wraps  the  jerkin  blue, 

And  sews  a  spacious  soal  on  either  shoe. 

Thus,  all  prepared,  the  fond  adoring  swain 

Cuts  from  his  groves  of  pine  a  ponderous  cane ; 

In  thought  a  beau,  a  savage  to  the  eye, 

Forth,  from  his  mighty  bosom,  heaves  the  sigh  ; 

Tobacco  is  the  present  for  his  fair, 

This  he  admires,  and  this  best  pleases  her — 

The  bargain  struck — few  cares  his  bosom  move 

How  to  maintain,  or  how  to  lodge  his  love  ; 

Close  at  his  hand  the  piny  forest  grows, 

Thence  for  his  hut  a  slender  frame  he  hews, 

With  art,  (not  copied  from  Palladio's  rules,) 

A  hammer  and  an  axe,  his  only  tools, 

By  Nature  taught,  a  hasty  hut  he  forms 

Safe  in  the  woods,  to  shelter  from  the  storms  ; — 

There  sees  the  summer  pass  and  winter  come, 

Nor  envies  Britain's  king  his  loftier  home. 


THE  ROYAL  SHEEP. 

(PINDAR.) 

OOME  time  ago,  a  dozen  lambs. 
Two  rev'rend  patriarchal  rams, 
And  one  good  motherly  old  ewe, 
Died  on  a  sudden  down  at  Kew  ; 

Where,  with  the  sweetest  innocence,  alas  1 
Those  pretty,  inoffensive  lambs, 
And  rev'rend,  horned,  patriarchal  rams, 

And  motherly  old  ewe,  were  nibbling  grass ; 

All  the  fair  property  of  our  great  King — 

Whose  death  did  much  the  royal  bosom  wring. 


THE  ROYAL  SHEEl'.  6i 

'Twas  said,  that  clogs  had  tickled  them  to  death  ; 
Play'd  with  their  gentle  throats,  and  stopp'd  their 
breath. 

Like  Homer's  heroes,  on  th'  ensanguin'd  plain, 
Stalk'd  Mr.  Robinson*  around  the  slain; 

And  never  was  more  frighten'd  in  his  life. 
So  shock'd  was  Mr.  Robinson's  whole  face, 
Not  stronger  horrors  could  have  taken  place, 

Had  Cerberus  devour'd  his  wife  ! 

With  wild,  despairing  looks,  and  sighs, 

And  wet,  and  pity-asking  eyes, 

He,  trembling,  to  the  royal  presence  ventur'd — 

White  as  the  whitest  napkin,  when  he  enter'd ! 

White  as  the  man,  who  sought  king  Priam's  bed, 

And  told  him,  that  his  warlike  son  was  dead. 

;<  Oh !  please  your  majesty" — he,  blubb'ring,  cry'd — ■ 

And  then  stopp'd  short — 
"  What  ?  what  ?  what  ?  what  ?  (the  staring  king  re- 
ply'd)- 
u-  Speak,  Robinson,  speak,  speak,  what,  what's  the 
hurt  r" 

*;  O  sire,"  said  Robinson  again — 
"  Speak — (said  the  king) — put,  put  me  out  of  pain— 
"  Don't,  don't,  in  this  suspense,  a  body  keep" — 
a  O  sire  !"  cry'd  Robinson,  "the  sheep,  the  sheep!" 

i(  What  of  the  sheep,"  reply'd  the  king, "  pray,  pray — 
"  Dead,  Robinson  ?  dead  ?  dead  ?  or  run  awp.y  ?" 
"  Dead,  (answer'd  Robinson ;)  dead,  dead,  dead  dead," 
Then,  like  a  drooping  lily,  hung  his  head. 

u  How  ?  how  ?"  the  monarch  ask'd,  with  visage  sad. 
k<  By  dogs,"  said  Robinson,  "  and  likely  mad." 

*  The  hind. 


62  THE  ROYAL  SHEEP. 

"  No,  no,  they  can't  be  mad — they  can't  be  mad~ 
"  No,  no,  things  ar'  n't  so  bad — things  ar'  n't  so  bad." 

Rejoin'd  the  king — 
"  Oft'  with  them  quick  to  market — quick  depart ; 
"  In  with  them,  in,  in  with  them  in  a  cart — 

"  Sell,  sell  them,  for  as  much  as  they  will  bring." 

Now  to  Fleet-Market,  driving  like  the  wind, 
Amidst  Ins  murder'd  mutton,  rode  the  hind, 

All  in  the  royal  cart  so  great, 

To  try  to  sell  the  royal  meat. 

The  news  of  this  rare  batch  of  lambs, 

And  ewe  and  rams, 
Design'd  for  many  a  London  dinner, 
Reach'd  the  fair  ears  of  Master  Sheriff  Skinner, 
Who  with  a  hammer  and  a  conscience  clear, 
Gets  glory,  and  ten  thousand  pounds  a  year : 
And  who,  if  things  go  tolerably  fair, 
Will  be  one  day  proud  London's  proud  Lord  Mayor. 

The  alderman  was  in  his  pulpit  shining, 

'Micist  gentlemen,  with  night-caps,  hair  and  wigs ; 

In  language  most  rhetorical,  defining 
The  sterling  merit  of  a  lot  of  pigs : 

When  suddenly  the  news  was  brought, 

That,  in  Fleet-Market,  were  unwholesome  sheep  ; 
Which  made  the  preacher  from  his  pulpit  leap, 
\s  nimble  as  a  taylor,  or  as  thought. 

For  justice  panting,  and  unaw'd  by  fears, 
This  king,  this  emperor  of  auctioneers, 
Set  off — a  furious  face  indeed  he  put  on — 

Like  lightning,  did  he  gallop  up  Cheapsidc  ! 

Like  thunder,  down  through  Ludgate  did  he  ride- 
To  catch  the  man,  who  sold  this  dreadful  mutton. 

Now  to  Fleet-Market,  full  of  wrath  he  came  ; 
And  with  the  spirit  of  an  ancient  Roman. 


THE  ROYAL  SHEEP.  63 

Exceeded,  I  believe,  by  no  man, 
The  alderman,  so  virtuous,  cry'd  out  "  Shame  1" 
<♦  Damme  !  (to  Robinson,  said  Master  Skinner) 
"  Who,  on  such  mutton,  sir,  can  make  a  dinner?" 

"  You,  if  ycu  piease," 
Cry'd  Mr,  Robinson,  with  perfect  ease, 
"  Sir  !"  quoth  the  red-hot  alderman  again  ; 
"  You"  quoth  the  hind,  in  just  the  same  cool  strain. 

"  Off!  off!  (cry'd  Skinner)  with  your  carrion  heap  : 
"  Quick,  d — me,  take  away  your  nasty  sheep  ! 
"  Whilst  I  command,  not  e'en  the  king 
"  Shall  such  vile  stuff  to  market  bring, 
u  And  London  stalls  such  garbage  put  on ; 
"  So  take  away  your  stinking  mutton." 

"  You  (reply 'd  Robinson)  you  cry  out  '  Shame  !' 
"  You  blast  the  sheep,  good  Master  Skinner,  pray  1 

"  You  give  the  harmless  mutton  a  bad  name  ! 
*{  Ycu  impudently  order  it  away  ! 

"  Sweet  Master  Alderman,  do  n't  make  this  rout : 
"  Clap  on  your  spectacles  upon  your  snout, 
"  And  then  your  keen  surveying  eyes  regale, 

"  With  those  same  fine  large  letters  on  the  cart, 
"  Which  brought  this  blasted  mutton  here  for  sale." 

Poor  Skinner  read,  and  read  it  with  a  start ! 

Like  Hamlet,  frighten'd  at  his  father's  ghost, 
The  alderman  stood  staring  like  a  post ; 
He  saw  G.  R.  inscrib'd  in  handsome  letters. 
Which  prov'd  the  sheep  belong'd  unto  his  betters. 

The  alderman  now  turn'd  to  deep  reflection  ; 
And  being  bless'd  with  proper  recollection, 
Exclaim'd — «  I  've  made  a  great  mistake — Oh,  sad ; 
"  The  sheep  are  really  not  so  bad. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Robinson,  I  beg  your  pardon ; 
'•'  Your  Job-like  patience  I  've  borne  hard  on  j 


THE  TINKER  AND  GLAZIER. 

%t  Whoever  says,  the  mutton  is  not  good, 
"  Knows  nothing,  Mr.  Robinson,  of  food. 
u  I  verily  believe,  I  could  turn  glutton, 
';  On  such  neat,  wholesome,  pretty-looking  mutton  ; 
v  Pray,  Mr.  Robinson,  the  mutton  sell  ; 
"  I  hope,  sir,  that  his  majesty  is  well." 

So  saying,  Mr.  Robinson  he  quitted, 

With  cherubimic  smiles,  and  placid  brows, 

For  such  embarrassing  occasions  fitted ; 
Adding  just  five  and  twenty  humble  bows. 

To  work  went  Robinson,  to  sell  the  sheep, 
But  people  would  not  buy,  except  dog-cheap  ; 
At  length  the  sheep  were  sold — without  the  fleece, 
And  brought  King  George  just  half-a-cro wn,  a  piece. 


THE  TINKER  AND  GLAZIER. 
A  TALE. 

(BY    MR.   HARRISON.) 

OlNCE  Gratitude,  'tis  said,  is  not  o'er  common, 
And  friendly  acts  are  pretty  near  as  few  ; 

And  highland  low,  with  man  and  eke  with  woman, 
With  Turk,  with  Pagan,  Christian,  and  with  Jew ; 

We  ought,  at  least,  whene'er  we  chance  to  find, 
Of  these  rare  qualities  a  slender  sample, 

To  shew  they  may  possess  the  human  mind, 
And  try  the  boasted  influence  of  example. 

Who  knows  how  far  the  novelty  may  charm  ? 

It  can  't,  at  any  rate,  do  much  harm  ; 

The  tale  we  give  then,  and,  we  need  not  fjear, 
The  moral,  if  there  be  one,  will  appear. 

Two  thirsty  souls  met  on  a  sultry  day, 
One  glazier  Dick,  the  other  Tom  the  Tinker  ; 

Both  with  light  purses,  but  with  spirits  gay, 
And  hard  it  were  to  name  the  sturdiest  drinker. 


niE  TINKER  AND  GLAZIER. 

Their  ale  the,  * :1 ; 

And,  as  they  swiggM  their  nappy, 
Though  both  agreed,  'tis  said, 
That  trade  was  wond'rous  dead, 
They  jok'd,  sung-,  Iaugh'd, 
And  were  completely  happy. 

The  landlord's  eye,  bright  as  his  sparkling  aley 

Glisten'd  to  see  them  the  brown  pitcher  hug  ; 
For  ev'ry  lest,  and  song,  and  merry  tale, 

Had  this  blithe  ending — "Bring  us  t'other  mugi,J 
Now  Dick,  the  glazier,  feels  his  bosom  burn, 
To  do  his  friend,  Tom  Tinker,  a  good  turn, 
And  where  the  heart  to  friendship  feels  inclin'd, 
Occasion  seldom  loiters  long  behind. 

The  kettle  gaily  singing  on  the  firer 
Gires  Dick  a  hint  just  to  his  heart's  desire  ; 
And  while  to  draw  more  ale  the  landlord  goes, 
Dick,  in  the  ashes,  all  the  water  throws, 
Then  puts  the  kettle  on  the  fire  again, 
And  at  the  Tinker  winks, 
As  "  trade's  success  !"  he  drinks, 
Nor  doubts  the  wish'd  success  Tom  will  obtain. 

Our  landlord  ne'er  could  such  a  toast  withstand : 
So,  giving  each  kind  customer  a  hand, 

His  friendship  too  displayed, 

And  drank — "  Success  to  trade  !" 
But,  O,  how  pleasure  vanished  from  his  eye, 

How  long  and  rueful  his  round  visage  grew  ; 
Soon  as  he  saw  the  kettle's  bottom  fly, 
Soider  the  only  fluid  he  could  view  1 

He  rav'd,  he  caper'd,  and  he  swore, 

And  d — d  the  kettle's  bottom  o'er  and  o'er, 

-4  Come,  come  I"  says  Dick,  "  fetch  us.  my  friend 
more  ale ; 
^  All  trades,  you  know,  must  live  : 
;'  Let 's  drink — '  May  trade  with  none  of  us,  ne'er  fail ! ' 
"  The  job  to  Tom,  then  give  ; 

g  :: 


rHE  TINKER  AND  I.LAZIER 

4i  And,  for  the  ale  he  drinks,  our  lad  of  mettle, 
"  Take  my  word  for  it,  soon  will  mend  your  kettle.'7 
The  landlord  yields,  but  hopes  'tis  no  offence, 
To  curse  the  trade  that  thrives  at  his  expense. 
Tom  undertakes  the  job  ;  to  work  he  goes, 
And  just  concludes  it  with  the  ev'niiig's  close. 

Souls  so  congenial,  had  fiiends  Tom  and  Dick, 

They  might  be  fairly  cailYi  brother  and  brother ; 
Thought  Tom,  to  serve  my  friend,  I  know  a  trick, 
"  And  one  good  turn  always  deserves  another !" 
Out  now  he  slily  slips, 
But  not  a  word  he  said  : 
The  plot  was  in  his  head, 
And  off  he  nimbly  trips, 
Swift  to  the  neighb'ring  church,  his  way  he  takes; 
Nor,  in  the  dark, 
Misses  his  mark, 
But  ev'ry  pane  of  glass  he  quickly  breaks. 

Back  as  he  goes, 

His  bosom  glows, 
To  think  how  great  will  be  his  friend  Dick's  joy, 
\t  getting  so  much  excellent  employ ! 
lleturn'd,  he  beck'ning,  draws  his  friend  aside, 

Importance  in  his  face  ; 
And,  to  Dick's  ear  his  mouth  applied, 

Thus  briefly  states  the  case — 
M  Dick  !  I  may  give  you  joy,  you  're  a  made  man ; 
"  I  've  done   your  business  most   complete,   my 
friend  ; 
•  I  'm  off! — the  devil  may  catch  me  if  he  can, 

"  Each  window  of  the  church  you  've  got  to  mend : 
••  Ingratitude's  worst  curse  on  my  head  fall, 
";  If,  for  your  sake,  I  have  not  broke  them  all  1" 

Tom,  with  surprize,  sees  Dick  turn  pale, 

Who  deeply  sighs — "  O,  la  [" 

Then  drops  his  under  jaw, 
And  all  his  pow'rs  of  utt'rance  fail : 


A  MATRIMONIAL  DIALOGUE 

While  horror  in  his  ghastly  face, 
And  bursting  eye-balls  Tom  can  trace, 
Whose  sympathetic  muscles,  just  and  true, 
Share  with  heart, 
Dick's  unknown  smart, 
And  two  such  phizzes  ne'er  met  mortal  view. 

At  length,  friend  Dick  his  speech  regain'd, 
And  soon  the  mystery  explain'd — 

k'  You  have,  indeed,  my  business  done  ! 

"  And  I,  as  well  as  you  must  run ; 

*  For,  let  me  act  the  best  I  can, 

"  Tom !  Tom !  I  am  a  ruin'd  man. 
u  Zounds !  zounds !  this  friendship  is  a  foolish  aet; 
•c  You  did  n't  know  with  the  parish  I  contract, 
*.*  Your  wish  to  serve  me,  then,  will  cost  me  dear,. 
"  I  always  mend  those  windows,  by  the  year.'* 


A  MATRIMONIAL  DIALOGUE : 
HUMBLY  INSCRIBED  TO  MY  LORD  SNAKE. 

(freneau.) 


o 


NE  Sabbath-day  morning  said  Sampson  to  Sue 
I  have  thought  and  have  thought  that  a  title  will  do ; 
Believe  me,  my  dear,  it  is  sweeter  than  syrup 
To  taste  of  a  title,  as  cooked  up  in  Europe ; 
"  Your  ladyship"  here,  and  u  your  ladyship"  there, 
u  Sir  knight,"  and  "  your  grace,"  and  "  his  worship 

the  mayor  1" 
But  here,  we  are  nothing  but  vulgar  all  over, 
The  wife  of  a  cobltr  scarce  thinks  you  above  her  : 
What  a  country  is  this,  where  madam  and  miss 
Is  the  highest  address  from  each  vulgar-born  cur; 
And  I — even  I — am  but  mister  and  sir.  ! 


68  A  MATRIMONIAL  DIALOGUE. 

Your  equal-right  gentry  I  ne'er  could  abide 
That  all  are  born  equal,  by  me  is  denied  : 
And  Barlow  and  Paine  shall  preach  it  in  vain  ; 
Look  even  at  brutes,  and  you  '11  see  it  confest 
That  some  are  intended  to  manage  the  rest ; 
Yon'  dog  of  the  manger,  how  stately  he  struts  ! 
You  may  swear  him  well-born,  from  the  size  of  his 

guts; 
Not  a  better-born  whelp  ever  snapped  at  his  foes, 
All  he  wants,  is  a  glass  to  be  stuck  on  his  nose  : 
And  then  my  dear  Sue,  between  me  and  you, 
He  would  look  like  the  gemman  whose  name  I  forget, 
Who  lives  in  a  castle  and  never  pays  debt." 

"  My  dear  (answered  Susan)  'tis  said,  in  reproach, 
That  you  climb  like  a  bear  when  you  get  in  a  coach : 
Now,  your  nobles  that  spring  from  the  nobles  of  old, 
Your  earls  and  your  knights,  and  your  barons  so  bold, 
From  Nature  inherit  so  handsome  an  air 
They  are  noblemen  born,  at  first   glance   we  may 

swear : 
But  you,  that  have  cobbled,  and  I  that  have  spun, 
'Tis  wrong  for  our  noddles  on  titles  to  run  : 
Moreover,  you  know,  that  to  make  a  fine  show, 
Your  people  of  note,  of  arms  get  a  coat  ; 
A  boot  or  a  shoe  would  but  sneakingly  do, 
And  would  certainly  prove  our  nobility  new." 

u  No  matter  (said  Sampson)  a  coach  shall  be  bought: 
Tho'  the  low-born  may  chatter,  I  care  not  a  groat ; 
Around  it  a  group  of  devices  shall  shine, 
And  mottos  and  emblems— to  prove  it  is  mine; 
Fair  Liberty's  cap,  and  a  star,  and  a  strap; 
A  dagger,  that  somewhat  resembles  an  awl, 
A  pumpkin-faced  goddess  supporting  a  stall  : 
All  these  shall  be  there — how  people  will  sure  ! 
And  envy  herself,  that  our  title  would  blast 
May  smile  at  the  motto — the  first  shall  be  LASf." 


G9 
SUSAN  AND  THE  SPIDER, 

(PIKDAR.) 

vOME  down  you  toad,"  cried  Susan  to  a  spidei. 
High  on  the  gilded  cornice  a  proud  rider, 

And  wanton  swinging  by  his  silken  rope ; 
"  I  'il  teach  thee  to  spin  cobwebs  round  the  room  , 
"  You  're  now  upon  some  murder,  I  presume  : 

"  I  '11  bless  thee  ;  if  I  do  n't,  say  I  'm  no  Pope.'" 

Then  Susan  brandished  her  long  brush 
Determined  on  a  fatal  push, 
To  bring  the  rope-dancer  to  the  ground, 
And  all  his  schemes  of  death  confound. 

The  Spider,  blest  with  oratory  grace, 
Slipped  down,  and  staring  Susan  in  the  face, 

"  Fie,  Susan!  lurks  there  murder  in  that  heart: 
i(  O  barb'rous,  lovely  Susan  I  1  'm  amazed! 
;<  O !  can  that  form,  on  which  so  oft  I  've  gazed, 

"  Possess  of  cruelty  the  slightest  part? 
"  Ah !  can  that  swelling  bosom  of  delight, 
"  On  which  I  've  peeped  with  wonder  many  a  night, 

"  Nay,  with  these  fingers  touched  too,  let  me  say, 
"  Contain  a  heart  of  cruelty ! — no,  no  ! 
"  That  bosom  which  exceeds,  the  new-fallen  sno-.', 

"  All  softness,  sweetness,  one  eternal  May/' 

"  How!"  Susan  screeched,  as  with  disordered  brain, 
"  How,  impudence !  repeat  those  words  again  : 
"  Come,  comej  confess  with  honesty — speak,  speak, 
"  Say,  did  you  really  crawl  upon  my  neck?" 

"  Susan,  by  all  thy  heavenly  charms,  I  did  ; 
"  I  saw  thee  sleeping  by  the  taper's  light  j 
"  Thy  cheek,  so  blushful,  and  thy  breast  so  white; 

"  I  could  not  stand  it,  and  so  down  I  slid." 


u  You  did,  sweet  Mr.  Spider?   so  you  saw 
c»  Yes,  Susan!  nature  is  a  powerful  law." 


><> 


fO     THE  SIMPLE  TRUTH  MOST  SIMPLY  TOLD. 

■"  Ar'  n't  you  a  murderer?"  gravely  Susan  cries; 

"  Ar'  n't  you  for  ever  busy  with  that  claw, 
u  Killing  poor  unoffending  little  flies, 

u  Merely  to  satisfy  your  nasty  maw." 

u  But,  Susan,  do  n't  you  feed  on  gentle  lamb  ? 
u  Do  n't  you  on  pretty  little  pigeon  cram  ? 

"  Do  n't  you  on  harmless  fishes  often  dine  1" 
li  That  's  very  true,  quoth  Susan,  true  indeed ; 
u  Lord  1  with  what  eloquence  these  spiders  plead  I 

"  This  little  rascal  beats  a  grave  divine. 
"  It  was  no  snake,  I  verily  believe, 
"  But  a  sly  spider  that  seduced  poor  Eve. 
"  But  then  you  are  so  ugly" — u  Ah!  sweet  Sue, 

"  I  did  not  make  myself,  you  know  too  well  : 
a  Could  I  have  made  myself,  I  had  been  you, 

"  And  killed  with  envy  every  beauteous  belle/' 

(i  Heavens !  to  this  Spider !—  what  a  witching  tongue  J 
;<  Well!  go  about  thy  business — go  along  ; 

"  All  animals,  indeed,  their  food  must  get : 
"  And  hear  me — shouldstthou  look  with  longing  eyes, 
*'  At  any  time,  on  young,  fat,  luscious  flies, 

"  I  '11  drive  the  little  rascals  to  thy  net. 
"  Lord !  then  how  blind!  've  been  to  form  and  feature : 
M  I  think  a  Spider,  now,  a  comely  creature  1" 


THE  SIMPLE  TRUTH  MOST  SIMPLY  TOLD. 
AN  EPIGRAM. 

JlIoNEST  Teague,  when  retum/d  from  a  trip  to 
the  North, 

For  to  Lapland  't  was  said  he  had  been  ; 
Was  questioned — "  If  during  his  cold  wintry  birth. 

Whether  any  Rein  Deer  he  had  seen  ?" 
"  When,"  says  he,  "  by  my  sowle,  as  truth  I  regard, 

"  I  was  station'd  there  almost  a  year  ; 
H  And  sometimes,  in  the  summer,  it  rain'd  very  hard, 

**  But  I  never  once  saw  it  rain  Deer 7M 


71 

THE  JEWESS  AND  HER  SON, 

(PINDAR.) 

JL4CONOMY  's  a  very  useful  broom  ; 

Yet  should  not  ceaseless  hunt  about  the  room 

To  catch  each  straggling  pin  to  make  a  plum. 
Too  oft  economy  's  an  iron  vice, 
That  squeezes  e'en  the  little  guts  of  mice, 

That  peep  with  fearful  eyes,  and  ask  a  crumb. 

Proper  economy 's  a  comely  thing ; 
Good  in  a  subject — better  in  a  king ; 

Yet  pushed  too  far,  it  dulls  each  finer  feeling, 
Most  easily  inclined  to  make  folks  mean  ; 
Inclines  them,  too,  to  villainy  to  lean, 

To  overreaching,  perjury,  and  stealing. 

E'en  when  the  heart  should  only  think  of  grief. 
It  creeps  into  the  bosom  like  a  thief, 
And  swallows  up  th'  affections  all  so  mild — 
Witness  the  Jewess  and  her  only  child. 

Poor  Mistress  Levi  had  a  luckless  son, 

Who,  rushing  to  obtain  the  foremost  seat. 

In  imitation  of  th'  ambitious  great, 
High  from  the  gallery,  ere  the  play  begun, 

He  fell  all  plump  into  the  pit, 

Dead  in  a  minute  as  a  nit : 
In  short,  he  broke  his  pretty  Hebrew  neck ; 
Indeed  and  very  dreadful  was  the  wreck  1 

The  mother  was  distracted,  raving,  wild  ; 
Shrieked,  tore  her  hair,  embraced  and  kissed  her 
child  ; 

Afflicted  every  heart  with  grief  around, 
Soon  as  the  shower  of  tears  was  somewhat  past, 
And  moderately  calm  th'  hysteric  blast, 

She  cast  about  her  eyes  in  thought  profound  ; 
A.nd  being  with  a  saving  knowledge  blessed, 
She  thus  the  play-house  manager  addressed : 


72  EPSOM  RACES. 

"  Sher,  I  'm  de  moder  of  de  poor  Chew  lad, 
"  Dat  meet  mishfartin  here  so  bad — 
"  Sher,  I  muss  haf  de  shilling  back,  you  know 
"  Ass  Moses  haf  nat  see  de  show/' 


EPSOM  RACES. 

V/OME,  Madam  Muse,  new  nib  thy  pen. 

And  put  on  thy  best  graces ; 
To  sing,  in  merry,  jocund  strain, 

The  joys  of  Epsom  Races. 

Curricles,  coaches,  chaises,  giggs, 
Beaux,  bloods,  and  men  of  trade, 

Black-legs,  nobles,  peers,  and  prigs, 
All  join  the  cavalcade. 

The  young,  the  old,  the  brown,  the  fair, 

Of  pleasure  take  their  fill  ; 
The  mania  spreads,  from  Berkeley-square. 

As  far  as  Fish-street-hill  ! 

Miss  Drugget  cries — "  My  sweet  papa, 

Let 's  go  to  Epsom  pray  ; 
There  's  you,  and  I,  and  dear  mamma. 

Will  fill  a  one-horse  chaise. 

In  order  to  go  safe  and  slow, 

By  day -break  we  '11  set  off ; 
The  ride  will  do  you  good  I  know, 

And  cure  your  nasty  cough. 

I  (hates  upon  the  country  now  ; 

How  sweet  the  wernal  breezes  ! 
We  '11  take  our  dinner,  too,  I  ivoiv, 

And  dine  beneath  the  treezcs." 

Old  Drugget  shook  his  cranium  wise;. 
But  madam  cried-— u  I  fegs  ! 


EPSOM  RACES. 

What,  tho'  old  Dobbin  's  lost  both  eyes, 
He  still  has  got  four  legs. 

You  cruel  man,  you  're  more  severe, 
Than  Chinese,  Turk,  or  Persian  ; 

Deny  your  wife,  and  daughter  dear, 
But  one  short  day's  diversion. 

So,  Mr.  Drugget,  pray  give  o'er, 

<A.nd  mind  what  I  desire  ; 
Go  to  the  Liv'ryman,  next  door, 

And  quick  a  buggy  hire." 

The  cit  found  all  resistance  nought, 

My  lady  was  in  arnest ; 
The  chaise  was  hir'd,  provisions  bought. 

And  poor  old  Dobbin  harness'd. 

Through  ev'ry  village  that  they  went, 

The  boys  began  a  hooting  ; 
Their  luckless  steed  wras  almost  spent 

Before  they  got  to  Tooting. 

Old  Drugget  laid  on  many  a  blow, 
And  whipp'd  with  might  and  main  ; 

And,  now,  behold,  he  cry'd,  "  Gee-ho  1" 
And  now  he  jerk'd  the  rein. 

At  length  he  turn'd  to  spousy  dear, 
And  said — u  My  sweetest  jewel, 

The  race-ground,  love,  is  very  near, 
For,  see,  we  're  ent'ring  Ewall." 

Reaching,  at  last,  the  crowded  course, 
They  gap'd,  they  star'd,  they  wonder'd 

Whilst  bets  upon  the  fav'rite  horse, 
Vociferously  thunder'd. 

The  cit  exclaim'd — "  Confound  this  din, 
I  wish,  as  I  'm  a  sinner  ; 

H 


74  EPSOM  RACES. 

This  cursed  racing  would  begin, 
That  I  might  get  my  dinner. 

What  with  the  fagging  that  I  've  had, 

By  Jove  I  'm  almost  dead ; 
Holla!  you  sir  !  come  here  my  lad, 

You,  gin  and  gingerbread!" 

But  when  the  racing  list  he  reads, 

To  trust  his  sight  afraid  is ; 
"  Zounds,  here  's  not  only  sfwrting  steeds, 

But  also  sfwrting  ladies  I 

Sure  there  was  never  such  a  scene, 

^nce  days  of  Father  Adam ; 
I  '11  see  it  nearer" — out  he  leapt, 

And  gave  the  reins  to  madam. 

Ent'ring  a  booth,  a  dext'rous  cheat. 

In  trick  and  cunning  able, 
Seduc'd  the  unsuspicious  cit 

To  join  an  E.  O.  table. 

Tempted  by  play's  inviting  call, 
A  guinea  bright  he  ventures  ; 

And  views  the  circling  of  the  ball, 
On  expectation's  tenters. 

Breathless  with  joy,  he  gain'd  his  chaise, 
And  cry'd  "  the  guinea's  won  1" 

But  who  can  paint  his  grief,  amaze — 
His  fav'rite  watch  was  gone  ! 

With  dreadful  ire  his  bosom  burn'cL 

But  now  the  horses  start ; 
Alas  !  the  chaise  was  overturn'd, 

By  running  'gainst  a  cart  ! 

Away  went  Drugget  and  his  cleat'. 
Away  went  ham  and  chicken  ; 


MURPHY  DELANEY. 

With  bottles,  glasses,  wine  and  beer, 
Ye  Gods,  what  pretty  picking  ! 

There,  too,  good  lack,  between  the  wheels 

Was  seen  their  hapless  daughter, 
Kicking  aloft  her  lovely  heels, 

'Midst  copious  streams  of  porter  ! 
t 
4  I  've  lost  my  wig,"  poor  Drugget  roar'd, 

"  Your  wig,  that 's  nought,"  cry'd  Miss, 
"  Mamma  has  spoil'd  her  bran-new  gown, 

And  I  my  blue  pelise." 

The  unlucky  chaise  went  quite  to  pot, 

Old  Dobbin  too  was  undone  ; 
At  great  expense  a  cart  they  got, 

To  take  them  back  to  London. 

Arriv'd  at  home,  th'  enrag'd  cit,  . 

With  words  the  most  uncivil, 
Sent  horses,  jockies,  E.  O.  too, 

All  packing  to  the  devil  ! 


MURPHY  DELANEY 

(C.    DIBDIX,    U 


1 


r  was  Murphy  Dclaney,  so  funny  and  frisky, 

Popp'd  in  a  shctbcen  shop  to  get  his  skin  full ; 
And  reel'd  out  again  pretty  well  lin'dwith  whiskey. 

So  fresh  as  a  shamrock,  and  blind  as  a  bull ; 
But  a  trilling  accident  happeu'd  our  rover, 

Who  took  the  quay -side  for  the  floor  of  his  shed 
And  the  keel  of  a  Goaf-barge  he  just  tumbled  over 

And  thought  all  the  time  he  was  going  to-bed; 
And  sing  fillalloo,  hubbaboo,  whack,  botheration. 
Every  man  in  his  humour,  as  Kate  kiss'd  the  pig ! 


76  THE  OWL  AN»  THE  PARROT. 

Some  folks  passing  by,  drew  him  out  of  the  river, 

Arid  got  a  horse-doctor  his  sickness  to  mend  ; 
Who  swore  that  poor  Pat  was  ro  longer  a  liver, 

But  dead  as  the  devil,  and  there  was  an  end  : 
So  they  sent  for  the  coroner's  jury  to  try  him, 

But  Pat,  not  half  liking-  the  comical  strife, 
Fell  to  twisting  and  turning-  the  while  they  sat  by  him, 

And  came  (when  he  found  it  convenient)  to  life ; 
Sing  fillalloo,  Sec. 

Says  Pat  to  the  jury?  "  Your  worships,  an't  please  yom 
I  do  n't  think  I  "m  dead  ;  so  what  is  it  you  'd  do?'' 
"  Not  dead  I"  said  the  foreman,  "  you  spalpeen,  be 
easy, 
"  Do  you  think,  don't  the  doctor  know  better  than 
you  ?" 
So  then  thev  went  on  in  the  business  further  ; 

Examin'd  the  doctor  about  his  belief; 
Then  brought  poor  Delaney  in  guilty  of  murder, 
And  swore  they  would  hang  him  in  spite  of  his 
teeth  ; 
Sing  fillallo,  Sec. 

But  Paddy  click'd  hold  of  a  clumsy  shelaly, 

And  laid  on  the  doctor,  who,  stiff  as  a  post, 
Still  swore  that  it  cou'd  n't  be  Murphy  Delaney, 

But  was  something  alive,  and  so  must  be  his  ghost 
The  jury  began  then  with  fear  to  survey  him, 

While  he  like  the  devil  about  him  did  pay; 
So  they  sent  out  of  hand  for  the  clargy  to  lay  him, 

But  Pat  laid  the  clargy,  and  then  ran  away ; 
Sing  fillalloo,  Sec. 


THE  OWL  AND  THE  PARROT. 

(PINDAE.) 

A.N  Owl  fell  desp'rately  in  love,  poor  soul  I 
Sighing  and  hooting  in  his  lonely  hole— 


THE  OWL  AND  THE  PARROT. 

A  Parrot  the  dear  object  of  his  wishes, 
Who  in  her  cage  enjo.y'd  the  loaves  and  fishes, 
In  short,  had  all  she  wanted — meat  and  drink, 
Washing  and  lodging — full  enough,  I  think. 

'Squire  Owl  most  musically  tells  his  tale ; 
His  oaths,  his  squeezes,  kisses,  sighs,  prevail : 
Poll  cannot  bear,  poor  heart,  to  hear  him  grieve; 
So  opes  her  cage,  without  a  "  By  your  leave;" 
Are  married,  go  to  bed  with  raptur'd  faces, 
Rich  words,  and  so  forth — usual  in  such  cases. 

A  day  or  two  pass'd  amorously  sweet ; 
Love,  kissing,  cooing,  billing,  all  their  meat : 

At  length  they  both  felt  hungry — "  What  's  for 
dinner  ? 
"  Pray  what  have  we  to  eat,  my  dear  ?"  quoth  Poll. — ■ 
"  Nothing  I  by  all  my  wisdom,"  answer'd  Owl  ; 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,  as  I  'm  a  sinner ; 

u  But,  Poll,  on  something  I  shall  put  my  pats— - 
u  What  say'st  thou,  deary,  to  a  dish  of  rats  ?" 

u  Rats,  Mister  Owl !  d'ye  think  that  I  'il  eat  rats  .: 
u  Eat  them  yourself,  or  give  them  to  the  cats," 

Whines  the  poor  bride,  now  bursting  into  tears/ — 
"  Well,  Polly,  would  you  rather  dine  on  mouse  ? 
%t  I  '11  catch  a  few,  if  any  in  the  house  ; 

"  Thou  shalt  not  starve,  love,  so  dispel  thy  fears  " 

"  I  won't  eat  rats — I  won't  eat  mice — I  won't : 
u  Don't  tell  me  of  such  dirty  vermin — do  n't  : 

"  O  that  within  my  cage  I  had  but  tarried  !'' 
K  Polly,"  quoth  Owl,  "  I  'm  sorry,  I  declare, 
:i  So  delicate,  you  relish  not  our  fare — 

"  You    should  have   thought  of  that  before   you 
married  .'" 


h  :: 


A 


MODES  OF  COURTSHIP 
DIAMOND  CUT  DIAMOND. 

(c.   DIBDIN,  JUN.) 


LAWYER,  quite  famous  for  making  a  bill. 
And  who  in  good  living  delighted, 
To  dinner  one  day,  with  a  hearty  good  will, 

Was  by  a  rich  client  invited  ! 
But  he  charg'd  6,s.  and  8d.  for  going  to  dine, 

Which  the  client  he  paid,  tho'  no  ninny  ; 
And  in  turn  charg'd  the  lawyer  for  dinner  and  wine, 
One  a  crown,  and  the  other  a  guinea  ! 

But  gossips,  you   know,  have  a  saying  in  store, 
He  who  matches  a  lawyer,  has  only  one  more. 

The  lawyer  he  paid  it,  and  took  a  receipt, 

While  the  client  star'cl  at  him  with  wonder  ; 
But  gave  to  his  friends,  with  the  produce  a  treat, 

Tho'  the  lawyer  soon  made  him  knock  under  : 
That  his  client  sold  wine,  information  he  laid, 

Without  licence  :  and,  in  spite  of  his  storming. 
The  client  a  good  thumping  penalty  paid, 

And  the  lawyer  got  half  for  informing  ! 
But  gossips,  Sec. 


MODES  OF  COURTSHIP. 

O  Love,  tny  temple  is  a  crowded  Inn — 
And,  ah  !  how  various  are  thy  ways  to  rvin  ' 

BE VOvYSHIRE-HOB' S  LO YE. 

(  PINDAR.) 

J  OANNY,  my  dear,  wut  ha  poor  Hob? 
Vol  1  Y,-  upon  a  coortin  job — 

Gadswunds  !   Iss  leek  thee,  Joan  ; 
I  'd  fert  for  thee — Iss,  that  Iss  wud  ; 
Is  love  thee  well,  as  pigs  love  mud. 

Or  dogs  to  gna  a  bone, 


MODES  OF  COURTSHIP. 

What  thoff  Iss  ba  n't  so  hugeous  smurt. 
Forsooth  leek  voaks  that  go  to  curt ; 

Yoakes  zay  I  'm  perty  vitty  : 
Lord,  Joan,  a  man  luay  be  alive. 
Ha  a  long  puss,  and  kep  a  wive, 

That  ne'er  zeed  Lundun  zitty. 

A  man  may  ha  the  best  o'  hearts, 
Although  no  chitterlins  to  's  sharts  ; 

And  lace  that  gentry  uze  ; 
Thee  d'st  vend  me  honest — Iss,  rert  down, 
Altho'  thee  hadsn't  got  a  gown, 

Ner  stockings  vath  ner  shooze. 

Xow,  Joanny,  prithee  dant  now  blish  ; 
Vor  zich,  Iss  wudd'n  gee  a  rish  ; 

Dant  copy  voakes  o'  town : 
No,  Joan,  dant  gee  thy  zel  an  air, 
And  ren  and  quat,  just  leek  a  hare, 

And  think  I  '11  hunt  thee  down. 

No,  that 's  dam  voalish,  let  me  zay ; 
No — dant  ren  off,  and  heed  away, 

Leek  paltriges  in  stubble  : 
No,  no,  the  easiest  means  be  best ; 
Iss  can't  turmoil,  and  looze  one's  rest;, 

Iss  can't  avoard  the  trouble. 

Now,  Joan,  beleek,  thee  want'st  to  know 
About  my  houze-keppin  and  zo, 

Bevore  thee  tak'st  the  nooze — 
Why  vlesh  an  dumplin  ev'ry  day ; 
But  az  vor  Zunday,  let  me  zay, 

We  '11  ha  a  gud  vat  gooze. 

Zumtimes  we  11  ha  a  choice  squab-pie ; 
And  zum  days  we  wull  broil  and  vry, 

And  zum  days  roast,  ye  slut ; 
An  az  vor  zyder,  thee  shut  guzzle, 
Zo  much,  Joan,  as  will  tire  thy  muzzle. 

Enow  to  splct  thy  gut. 


80  GILES  SCROGGINS'  GHOST. 

Now  break  thy  meend,  zay  "  dun,  an  dun ;' 
I  '11  make  thee  a  good  husband,  naun  ; 

And  Joan,  I  '11  love  thee  dearly  ; 
Iss  waant  do  leek  our  neighbour  Flail, 
That  huftth  his  wive,  and  kickth  her  tail, 

And  drashth  her  just  leek  barley. 

Joanny,  Iss  now  have  broke  my  meend ; 
Zo  speak,  and  let  the  bisness  eend, 

And  dant  stand  shilly  shally  ; 
But  if  thee  wutt'n — Lord,  lay  't  alone  ; 
Go  hang  thy  zel  vor  me,  mun,  Joan, 

I'll  curt  thy  zester  Mally. 


G 


GILES  SCROGGINS'  GHOST. 

(C.   DIB  DIN,   JVX.) 

ILLS  Scroggins  courted  Molly  Brown- 


Fol  de  riddle  lokfol  de  riddle  lido  ! 
The  fairest  wench  in  all  the  town, 

Fol  de  riddle  lol,  Sec. 
He  bought  a  ring,  with  poesy  true, 

"  If  you  loves  I  as  I  loves  you, 
No  knife  can  cut  our  love  in  two." 

Fol  de  riddle  lol,  Sec. 

But  scissars  cut  as  well  as  knives, 

Fol  de  riddle  lol,  &c. 
And  quite  uncertain  's  all  our  lives, 

Fol  de  riddle  lol,  Sec. 
The  day  they  were  to  have  been  wed, 

Fate's  scissars  cut  poor  Giles's  thread. 
So  they  could  not  be  mar-ri-ed, 

Fol  de  riddle  lol,  &c. 

Poor  Molly  laid  her  down  to  weep, 

Fol  de  riddle  lol,  &c. 
And  cried  herself  quite  fast  asleep, 

Fol  de  riddle  lol,  Sec. 


LUBIN*  AND  THE  DENTIST. 

When  standing  all  by  the  bed's  post, 

A  figure  tall  her  sight  engross'd, 
And  it  cri'ci,  u  I  beez  Giles  Scroggins'  ghost  I" 

Fol  cie  riddle  lol,  Sec. 

The  ghost,  it  said,  all  solemnly, 

Fol  de  riddle  lol,  Sec. 
u  Oj  Molly,  you  must  go  with  1 1 

Fol  de  riddle  lol,  Sec. 
All  to  the  grave  your  love  to  cool," — 

Says  she,  "  I  am  not  dead,  you  fool !" 
Says  the  ghost,  says  he,  "  That's  no  rule." 

Fol  de  riddle  lol,  Sec. 

The  ghost  he  seiz'd  her,  all  so  grim, 

Fol  de  riddle  lol,  &c. 
All  for  to  go  along  with  him, 

Fol  de  riddle  lol,  Sec. 
«  Come,  come,"  said  he,  "  'ere  morning  beam," 

'»  I  von't,"  said  she,  and  she  scream'd  a  scream, 
Then  she  woke,  and  found  she'd  dreamt  a  dream, 

Fol  de  riddle  lol,  Sec. 


LUBIN  AND  THE  DENTIST. 

(PIXDAR.) 

OORE  troubled  by  the  tooth-ache,  Lubin  ran 
To  get  the  murd'rer  of  his  quiet,  drawn  ; 

An  artist  in  an  instant  whips  it  out — 
"  Well,  Master  Snag — ha?  ?  what  has  I  to  pay  :" 
"  A  shilling" — u  Zounds  !  a  shilling  do  ye  zay  ?" 

With  a  long  staring  face  replies  the  lout. 

u  Lord  !  why  Ize  did  not  veel  it — 'twas  nort  in  it  . 
u  You  known  ye  wern't  about  it  half  a  minute: 

"  To  gee  zo  much  Ize  cursedly  unwilling— 
M  Lord !  vor  a  tooth,  but  yesterday  old  Slop 
"  Did  drag  me  by  the  head  about  his  shop 

'•  Three  times.,  poor  man,  and  only  ax'd  a  shilling" 


w 


MISS  DEBORAH  DIDDLE  AND  SIR  GIL- 
BERT  GOSOFTLY. 

(C.  D1BDIX,  JUX.) 

lOU  may  talk  of  sweet  passion,  and  wishing  and 
wooing, 
With  extacies,  blushes,  and  darts  ; 
Of  altars  and  turtles,  and  billing  and  cooing, 

Flaming  torches,  and  fond  bleeding  hearts  ! 
But  the  truest  of  lovers  that  ever  was  seen, 

In  city  or  town,  great  or  small, 
Were  Miss  Deborah  Diddle  of  Daisymead-green, 
And  Sir  Gilbert  Gosoftly  of  Gooseberry-hall ! 

The  virgin  was  fifty,  her  head  very  taper, 

Her  mouth  large,  and  nose  rather  flat; 
Her  complexion  as  blooming  as  nvhity-broivn  paper; 

She'd  but  one  eye,  and  squinted  with  that ; 
For  an  excellent  rib  she  was  form'd  too,  I  ween, 

Since  terribly  crook'd  withal, 
Was  Miss  Deborah  Diddle  of  Daisymead-green, 

For  Sir  Gilbert  Gosoftly  of  Gooseberry-hall. 

The  knight  once  a  sad  race  had  run,  when  in  clover. 

But  his  running  had  come  to  a  dreg  ; 
For  now  he  was  poor,  and  had  sixty  got  over, 

Besides  that,  he  had  but  one  leg. 
Gut  titled  was  he,  and  she  rich  as  a  queen  ; 

These  in  love  with  each  other  made  fall; 
Sweet  Miss  Deborah  Diddle  of  Daisymead-green, 

And  Sir  Gilbert  Gosoftly  of  Gooseberry-hall. 

The  knight  caught  a  fever  in  toasting  her  merits, 

Took  physic,  and  that  made  him  die  ; 
When  the  grief  of  the  fair  so  consum'd  all  her  spirits, 

She  went  off  with  a  drofi  in  her  eye. 
And  such  fond,  constant  love,  from  oblivion  to  screen, 

From  the  grave  sprung  a  tomb-stone  so  tall, 
Of  Miss  Deborah  Diddle  of  Daisymead-green, 

And  Sir  Gilbert  Gosoftly  of  Gooseberry-halL 


SJ 
JOHN  DOE  AND  RICHARD  ROE, 

(c.    DIBDIN,   JUN.) 

D  O  you  know  Johnny  Doe, 

And  the  fam'd  Richard  Roe, 
Two  terrible  brothers  in  law,  sir  ? 

Because  if  you  don't 

I  hope  that  you  won't 
Be  hook'd  by  their  terrible  claw,^  sir  ? 
O,  it 's  a  terribie,  &c.  A  confounded  terrible,  Sec, 

And  their  talons  ne'er  fail 

Each  poor  devil  to  nail, 
Within  reach  of  their  terrible  claw,  sir. 

More  captures  they  've  made 
Than  the  whole  fighting  trade  ; 
For  actions  their  like  you  '11  ne'er  meet,  sir, 
In  the  army,  folks  say, 
Mag's  diversion  they  play  ; 
But  they're  much  more  at  home  in  the  fleet,  sir. 
They  've  much  more,  &c. 

They  've  all  their  own  way,  Sec. 
•  For  they  've  officers  bluff, 
And  press- warrants  enough, 

To  issue  and  people  the  fleet,  sir. 

Sir  Sid,  without  stopping, 

Took  French  leave,  for  hopping, 
And  now  takes  the  French  to  their  moan,  sir; 

But  to  these  he  's  a  cake, 

For  all  nations  they  take, 
With  nobody's  leave  but  their  own,  sir ; 
Nobody's,  Sec.     Nobody's,  Sec. 

For  I  fancy,  d'  ye  see, 

If  they  took  you  or  me, 
They'd  have  nobody's  leave  but  their  own,  sir. 

Why,  what  d'  you  think  ? 

When  you  're  short  of  the  chink ; 


84  KITTY  MAGGS  AND  JOLTEIi  GILE- 

Of  want  tho'  they  know  you  have  plenty, 
Because  it  is  found 
You  can't  pay  ten  pound, 
Ecod,  but  they  '11  make  you  pay  twenty. 
Ecod,  Sec. 

Ton  my  honor,  they'll,  &c. 
For,  as  justice  can't  see, 
The  lawyers  agree, 
For  ten  pounds,  &c. 
• 
May  these  brothers  in  law, 
With  their  terrible  claw, 
Keep  all  honest  from  poets  to  proctors ; 
And  perhaps  a  good  thing 
For  the  nation  and  king, 
It  would  be  if  they'd  bone  all  the  doctors  ! 
O,  Lord  !   &c. 
What  a  thing,  if,  Sec. 
With  a  drop  of  good  stuff, 
We  should  live  long  enough, 
If  they  'd  only  just  bone  all  the  doctors. 


K] 


KITTY  MAGGS  AND  JOLTER  GILES. 

(c.  DIBDIX,   J  UN.) 


.ITTY  MAGGS  was  a  servant  to  Farmer  Styles, 
And  a  buxom  wench  was  she ; 
And  her  true  lovier  was  Jolter  Giles, 

A  ploughman  so  bold  was  he  ; 
Giles  had  wages,  five  pounds  due  at  Candlemas-tide, 
And  then  he  told  Kitty  he  'd  make  her  his  bride. 
Ding  dong,  bo  ! 

Betty  Blossom  she  wore  a  high-caul'd  cap, 

Which  caught  fickle  Joker's  eye  ; 
And  poor  Kitty  Maggs,  O,  dire  mishap ! 

Mourn'd  his  incon-stan-cy ! 
And  high  on  the  bough  of  an  apple  tree, 
When  they  married,  Kate  finish'd  her  misery 
Ding  dong,  bo  ! 


EPIGRAM  8J 

At  the  supper  Giles  gave  for  Betty  his  bride, 

An  apple  pudding  had  they, 
And  from  the  same  bough  on  which  poor  Kitty  died 

The  apples  were  pluck'd  they  say  ; 
The  pudding  pies  on  it,  grew  deadly  cold ! 
The  death  watch  tick'd,  and  the  church  bell  toll'd  ! 
Ding  dong,  bo  ! 

To  carve  the  pudding  was  Giles's  post, 

He  cut,  and  from  the  gap, 
Popp'd  the  head  of  poor  dear  Kitty  Maggs's  ghost, 

All  in  a  new  fashion'd  shroud  cap  : 
Said  Giles,  "  who  be  you  ?"  said  the  ghost,  "  I  be  Ir 
A  coming  to  punish  your  fiar-ju-ry  .'" 
Ding  dong,  bo ! 

"  O  Kitty"  said  Jolter,  "  pray  alter  your  note !" 

"  /  von't  .'"  the  ghost  replied ; 
When  plump  flew  the  pudding  down  Giles's  throat, 

And  on  the  spot  he  died. 
Now  his  ghost,  once  a  year,  bolting  puddings  is  seen, 
While  blue  devils  sing,  every  mouthful  between, 
Ding  dong,  bo  I 


A: 


EPIGRAM. 

(swift.) 


,S  Thomas  was  cudgell'd  one  day  by  his  wife, 
He  took  to  his  heels,  and  he  ran  for  his  life. 
Tom's  three  dearest  friends  came  by  in  the  squabble, 
And  screen'd  him  at  once  from  the  shrew  and  the 

rabble  ; 
Then  ventur'd  to  give  him  some  wholesome  advice : 
But  Tom  is  a  fellow  of  honour  so  nice, 
Too  proud  to  take  counsel,  too  wise  to  take  warning, 
That  he  sent  to  all  three  a  challenge  next  morning. 
He  fought  'with  all  three,  thrice  he  ventur'd  his  life  ; 
— Then  went  home,  and  was  cudgell'd  again  by  his 
wife. 


86 
LORD  B.  AND  THE  EUNUCH. 

(PIXDAR.) 

x\  LORD,  most  musically  mad, 
Yet  with  a  taste  superlatively  bad, 

Ask'd  a  squeal  eunuch  to  his  house  one  day— 
A  poor  old  semi-uir,  whose  throat 
Had  lost  its  love  resounding  note, 

Which  art  had  giv'n,  and  time  had  stol'n  away. 

"  Signor  Squalini,"  with  a  solemn  air, 

The  lord  began,  grave  rising  from  his  chair, 

Taking  Squalini  kindly  by  the  hand  ; 
"  Signor  Squalini,  much  I  fear 
"  I  've  got  a  most  unlucky  ear, 

"  And  that  'tis  known  to  all  the  music  band. 

"  Fond  of  abuse,  each  fiddling  coxcomb  carps, 
'*  And,  true  it  is,  I  don't  know  flats  from  sharps  : 

u  Indeed,  Signor  Squalini,  'tis  no  hum  ; 
"  So  ill  doth  music  with  my  organs  suit, 
"  I  scarcely  know  a  fiddle  from  a  flute, 

"  The  hautboys  from  the  double  drum. 

"  Now  tho'  with  lords,  a  number  of  this  nation, 
"  I  go  to  op'ras,  more  through  fashion 

"  Than  for  the  love  of  music,  I  could  wish 
"  The  world  might  think  I  had  some  little  taste, 
"  That  those  two  ears  were  tolerably  chaste, 

"  But,  sir,  I  am  as  stupid  as  a  fish. 

"  Get  me  the  credit  of  a  cognoscente, 

"  Gold  shan't  be  wanting  to  content  ye." — 

"  Bravissimo  !  my  lor,"  replied  Squalini, 

With  acquiescent  bow,  arid  smile  of  suavity ; 

u  De  nobleman  must  never  look  de  ninny." — 
"  True,"  cry'dthe  noble  lord  with  German  gravity 


LORD  B.  AND  THE  EUNUCH.  87 

"  My  lor,  veil  men  vant  money  in  der  purse, 
"  De  do  not  vant  de  vorld  to  tink  dem  poor, 

M  Because,  my  lor,  dat  be  von  shabby  curse ; 
"  Dis  all  same  ting  wid  ignourance,  my  lor.'* — 

"  Right,"  cry'd  his  lordship,  in  a  grumbling  tone, 

Much  like  a  mastiff  jealous  of  his  bone. 

u  But  first  I  want  some  technicals,  signor" — 
Bowing,  the  eunuch  answer'd — "  Iss,  my  lor  ; 

"  I  teash  your  lorship  queekly,  queeklyj  all, 
"  Dere  vat  be  call  de  sostenuto  note, 
M  Dat  be  ven  singer  ogen  vide  de  troat, 

M  And  den  for  long  time  make  de  squawl — 
u  Mush  long,  long  note,  dat  do  continue  vile 
*  A  man,  my  lor,  can  valk  a  mile. 

u  My  lor,  der  likewise  beed  cromatigue, 
"  As  if  de  singer  vas  in  greef,  or  sick, 

"And  had  de  colick — dat  be  ver,  ver  fine  :    • 
"  De  high,  oh,  dat  musician  call  sofirano  ; 
u  De  low  voice,  basso;  de  soff  note,  jiiano 

"  Brauouva,  queek,  bold' — here  Marchesi  shine. 

"  Dis  Mara,  too,  and  Billington,  do  know — 
u  Allegro*  queek ;  Adagio,  be  de  slow ; 

u  PomfiosO)  dat  be  manner  make  de  roar: 
u  Maestoso,  dat  be  grand  and  noble  ting, 
u  Mush  like  de  voice  of  Emperor,  or  de  king  ; 

"  Or  you,  my  lor, 
u  When  in  de  house  you  make  de  grand  oration, 
"  For  save,  my  lor,  de  noble  Englis  nation." 

Thus  having  giv'n  his  lesson,  and  a  bow, 

With  high  complacency  his  lordship  smil'd  : 

Unravell'd  was  his  lordship's  pucker'd  brow, 
His  scouling  eye,  like  Luna's  beams,  so  mild  : 

Such  is  th'  effect,  when  flatt'ries  sweet  cajole 
That  praise-admiring  wight  yclep'd  the  soul ; 


88  LORD  B.  AND  THE  EUNUCH. 

And  from  the  days  of  Adam  'tis  the  case, 
That  great 's  the  sympathy  'twixt  souLand  face. 

"  Signor  Squalini,"  cry'd  the  lord, 

"  The  op'ra  is  begun,  upon  my  word   .  ,»■ 

"  Allons,  signor,  and  hear  me — .mind, 

"  As  soon  as  ever  you  shall  find 

"  A  singer's  voice  above  or  under  pitch, 

"  Just  touch  my  toe,,  or  give  my  arm  a  twitch." 

""  Iss,  iss,  my  lo,r,  (the  eunuch  straight  reply'd) 
"  I  sheet  close  by  your  lorship  side  ; 
"  And  den,  according  to  you-/ lorship  wish, 
u  I  give  your  lorship  elbow  littel  twish." 

Now  to  the  opera,  music's  sounds  to  hear, 
The  old  castrato  and  the  noble  peer 

Proceeded — Near  the  orchestra  they  sat, 
Before  the  portals  of  the  singers'  throats  ! 
The  critic  couple  musing  for  bad  notes, 

With  all  the  keenness  of  a  hungry  cat. 

Now  came  an  out-of-tunish  note — -~ 
The  eunuch  twitch'd  his  lordship's  coat ; 

Full-mouth'd  at  once  his  lordship  roar'd  oiit- 
"  psha  !" 
The  orchestra,  amaz'd,  turn  round 
To  find  from  whence  arose  the  critic  sound, 

When,  lo !  they  heard  the  lord,  and  saw  ! 

The  eunuch  kept  most  slily  twitching, 
His  frowning  lordship  all  the  while, 
(Not  in  the  cream  of  courtly  style) 
Bc-dogging  this  poor  singer,  that  be-bitching, 
Uniting  too,  a  host  of  damning  pshas, 
And  reap'd  a  plenteous  harvest  of  applause  : — . 
Grew  from  that  hour  a  lord  of  tuneful  skill, 
\nd  tho'  the,  eunuch's  dead?  remains  so  still 


89 

THE  FEMALE  PRATTLER. 

if  ROM  morn  to  night,  from  day  to  day. 

At  all  times,  and  in  ev'ry  place, 
You  scold,  repeat,  and  sing  and  say, 

Nor  are  there  hopes  yon  '11  ever  cease. 
Forbear,  my  Fannia  ;  oh,  forbear, 

If  your  own  health  or  ours  you  prize  ; 
For  all  mankind  that  hear  you,  swear 

Your  tongue  's  more  killing  than  your  eyes, 
Your  tongue 's  a  traitor  to  your  face, 

Your  fame  *s  by  your  own  noise  obscur'd ; 
All  are  distracted  while  they  gaze, 

But,  if  they  listen,  they  are  cur'd. 
Your  silence  would  acquire  more  praise 

Than  all  you  say,  or  all  you  write ; 
One  look  ten  thousand  charms  displays  ; 

Then  hush  ! — and  be  an  angel  quite. 


EPIGRAM. 

J\$  Quin  and  Foote,  one  day  walk'd  out 

To  view  the  country  round, 
In  merry  mood,  they  chatting  stood 

Hard  by  the  village -pound. 
Foote  from  his  poke  a  shilling  took, 

And  said,  I'll  bet  a  penny,  . 
In  a  short  space,  within  this  place, 

I  '11  make  this  piece  a  guinea. 
Upon  the  ground,  within  the  pound, 

The  shilling  soon  was  thrown  ; 
Behold,  says  Foote,  the  thing  's  made  out, 

For  there  is  one  pound  one. 
I  wonder  not,  says  Quin,  that  thought 

Should  in  your  head  be  found, 
Since  that 's  the  way,  your  debts  you  pay- 
One  shilling  in  the  pound. 

i  2 


90 


A  COURT  AUDIENCE. 


O 


'LD  South,  a  wjtty  churchman  reckon'd, 
Was  preaching  once  to  Charles  the  Second, 
But  much  too  serious  for  a  court 
Who  at  all  preaching  made  a  sport. 
He  soon  perceiv'd  his  audience  nod, 
Deaf  to  the  zealous  man  of  God  ! 
The  doctor  stopp'd;  began  to  call, 
M  Pray  'wake  the  earl  of-  Lauderdale. 
"  My  lord !  why,  'tis  a  monstrous  thing ! 
u  You  snore  so  loud— you'll  'wake  the  king." 


THE  AVARO 

X  HUS  to  the  master  of  a  house, 
Which,  like  a  church,  would  starve  a  mouse  ; 
Which  never  guest  had  entertain'd, 
Nor  meat  nor  wine  its-  floor*  had  stain 'd, 
I  said, — Well,  sir,  'tis  vastly  neat ; 
But  where  d'you  drink,  and  where  d'  you  cat 
If  one  may  judge,  by  rooms  so  fine, 
It  costs  you  more  in  mops  than  wine* 


THE  MISTAKE. 

(taylor.) 

A  CANNON  ball,  one  bloody  day. 
Took  a  poor  sailor's  leg  away  ; 
And  as  on  comrade's  back  he  made  off. 
A  second  fairly  took  his  head  off. 
The  fellow,  on  this  odd  emergence, 
Carries  him  pick-back  to  the  surgeon's. 

Zounds  !  cries  the  doctor,  are  you  drunk 
To  bring  me  here  a  headless  trunk? 
A  lying  dog !  cries  Jack— he  said 
His  leg  was  off,  and  not  his  head- 


91 
THE  TENDER  HUSBAND. 

(PINDAR.) 

_L  O,  to  the  cruel  hand  of  fate, 

My  poor  dear  Grizzle,  meek-soul'd  mate, 

Resigns  her  tuneful  breath — 
Tho'  dropp'd  her  jaw.,  her  lip  tho'  pale. 
And  blue  each  harmless  finger  nail, 

She 's  beautiful  in  death. 

As  o'er  her  lovely  limbs  I  weep, 
I  scarce  can  think  her  but  asleep — 

How  wonderfully  tame  ! 
And  yet  her  voice  is  really  gone, 
And  dim  those  eyes  that  lately  shone 

With  all  the  lightning's  flame. 

Death  was,  indeed,  a  daring  wight. 
To  take  it  in  his  head  to  smite — 

To  lift  his  dart  to  hit  her ; 
For  as  she  was  so  great  a  woman, 
Mid  car'd  a  single  fig  for  no  man, 

I  thought  he  fear'd  to  meet  her. 

Still  is  that  voice  of  late  so  strong, 
That  many  a  sweet  Capriccio  sung, 

And  beat  in  sounds  the  spheres  ! 
Xo  longer  must  those  fingers  play 
Britons  strike  home,  that  many  a  day 

Have  sooth'd  my  ravish'd  ears ! 

Ah  me !  indeed  I'm  much  inclin'd 
To  think  I  now  might  speak  my  mind. 

Nor  hurt  her  dear  repose  ; 
Nor  think  I  now  with  rage  she  'd  roar- 
Were  I  to  put  my  fingers  o'er, 

And  touch  her  precious  nose. 

Here  let  me  philosophic  pause — 
How  wonderful  are  nature's  laws. 


92  THE  TENDER  IIUSBAXB 

When  lady's  breath  retires, 
Its  fate  the  flaming  passions  share, 
Supported  by  a  little  air, 

Like  culinary  fires  ! 

Whene'er  I  hear  the  bagpipe's  note, 
Shall  fancy  fix  on  Grizzle's  throat, 

And  loud  instructive  lungs  : 
O  Death,  in  her,  tho'  only  one, 
Are  lost  a  thousand  charms  unknown, 

At  least  a  thousand  tongues. 

Soon  as  I  heard  her  last  sweet  sigh, 
And  saw  her  gently  closing  eye, 

How  great  was  my  surprise  ! 
Vet  have  I  not  with  impious  breath, 
Vccus'd  the  hard  decrees  of  death, 

Nor  blam'd  the  righteous  skies 

Why  do  I  groan  in  deep  despair, 
Since  she  '11  be  soon  an  angel  fair  ? 

Ah  !  why  my  bosom  smite  ? 
Could  grief  my  Grizzle's  life  restore  !— 
But  let  me  give  such  ravings  o'er — 

Whatever  is,  is  right. 

Oh,  doctor  !  you  are  come  too  late  ; 
No  more  of  physic's  virtues  prate, 

That  could  not  save  my  lamb  : 

Not  one  more  bolus  shall  be  giv'n 

You  shall  not  ope  her  mouth  by  Heav'n, 

And  Grizzle's  gullet  cram. 

Enough  of  bolusses,  poor  heart, 
And  pills,  she  took  to  load  a  cart, 

Before  she  clos'd  her  eyes ; 
But  now  my  word  is  here  a  law, 
Zounds  !  with  a  bolus  in  her  jaw, 

She  shall  not  seek  the  skies. 


THE  TENDER  HUSBAND. 

Good  sir,  good  doctor,  go  away  : 

To  hear  my  sighs  you  must  not  stay, 

For  this  my  poor  lost  treasure  : 
I  thank  you  for  your  pains  and  skill ; 
When  next  you  come,  pray  bring  your  bill ; 

I  '11  pay  it,  sir,  with  pleasure. 

Ye  friends  who  come  to  .nourn  her  doom, 
For  God's  sake  gently  tread  the  room. 

Nor  call  her  from  the  blest — 
In  softest  silence  drop  the  tear, 
In  whispers  breathe  the  fervent  pray'r, 

To  bid  her  spirit  rest. 

Repress  the  sad,  the  wounding  scream  ; 
I  cannot  bear  a  grief  extreme — 

Enough  one  little  sigh — 
Besides,  the  loud  alarm  of  grief, 
In  many  a  mind  may  start  belief, 

Our  noise  is  all  a  lie. 

Good  nurses,  shroud  my  lamb  with  care  ; 
Her  limbs,  with  gentlest  fingers,  spare  ; 

Her  mouth,  ah  1  slowly  clo^e  ; 
Her  mouth  a  magic  tongue  that  held — 
Whose  softest  tone^  at  times,  compell'd. 

To  peace,  my  loudest  woes. 

And,  carpenter,  for  my  sad  sake, 
Of  stoutest  oak  her  coffin  make 

I  'd  not  be  stingy,  sure 

Procure  of  steel  the  strongest  screws  ; 
For  who  would  paltry  pence  refuse 

To  lodge  his  wife  secure  ? 

Ye  people  who  the  corpse  convey. 
With  caution  tread  the  doleful  wa^ . 

Nor  shake  her  precious  head  ; 
Since  fame  reports  a  coffin  tost, 
With  careless  swing  against  a  post. 

Did  once  disturb  the  dead-. 


94 

Farewell,  my  love,  for  ever  lost ! 
Ne'er  troubled  be  thy  gentle  ghost, 

That  I  again  will  woo 

By  all  our  past  delights,  my  dear, 

Xo  more  the  marriage  chain  I  '11  wear, 

P — x  take  me  if  I  do  ! 


ON  A  BAD  SINGER. 


W: 


HEN  screech-owls  screek,  their  note  portends 
To  foolish  mortals  death  of  friends  : 
But  when  Corvina  strains  her  throat, 
E'en  screech-owls  sicken  at  the  note. 


EPIGRAM. 

\J  PON  some  hasty  errand  Tom  was  sent. 
And  met  his  parish  curate  as  he  went ; 
But,  just  like  what  he  was,  a  sorry  clown, 
It  seems  he  pass'd  him  with  a  cover'd  crown. 
The  gownman  stopp'd,  and,  turning,  sternly  said — 
I  doubt,  my  lad,  you  're  far  worse  taught  than  fed  ! 
Why  aye  !  says  Tom,  still  jogging  on,  that 's  true  ; 
Thank  God,  he  feeds  me  !  but  I  'm  taught  by  you; 


ON  A  BOWL  OF  PUNCH. 

VV  HENE'ER  a  bowl  of  punch  we  make, 
Four  striking  opposite s  we  take ; 
The  strong,  the  small,  the  sharp,  the  sweet, 
Together  mix'd,  most  kindly  meet ; 
And  when  they  happily  unite, 
The  bowl  "  is  pregnant  with  delight :" 

In  conversation  thus  we  find, 
That  four  men  differently  inclin'd. 


9j 


With  talents  each  distinct ;  and  each 
Mark'd  by  peculiar  powers  of  speech ; 
With  tempers  too  as  much  the  same 
As  milk  and  verjuice,  frost  and  flame  ; 
Their  parts  by  properly  sustaining, 
May  all  prove  highly  entertaining. 


EPIGRAM. 

OAYS  a  beau  to  a  lady,  pray  name  if  you  can, 
Of  all  your  acquaintance,  the  handsomest  man  ? 
The  lady  replied,  If  you  M  have  me  speak  true, 
He  's  the  handsomest  man  that 's  the  most  unlike 
you. 


THE  LAWYER  AND  CLIENT. 

A   WO  lawyers,  when  a  knotty  cause  was  o'er, 
Shook  hands,  and  were  as  good  friends  as  before ; 
"  Zounds!"  says  the  losing  client,  "  how  come  yaw 
To  be  such  friends,  who  were  such  foes  just  naw  ?" 
Thou  fool,  says  one,  we  lawyers,  tho'  so  keen, 
Like  shears,  ne'er  cut  ourselves,  but  what's  between. 


SIR  J.  BANKS  AND  THE  THIEFTAKERS. 

(PINDAR.) 

OlR  JOSEPH,  fav'rite  of  great  queens  and  kings, 
Whose  wisdom,  weed  and  insect  hunter  sings ; 

And  ladies  fair  applaud,  with  smile  so  dimpling  ; 
Went  forth  one  day,  amidst  the  laughing  fields, 
Where  nature  such  exhaustless  treasure  yields, 
A  simpling  ! 


96         SIR  J.  BANKS  AND  THE  THIEFTAKERS 

It  happen'd  on  the  self-same  morn  so  bright, 
The  nimble  pupils  of  Sir  Sampson  Wright, 
A  simpling  too  for  plants,  call'd  Thieves,  proceeded , 
Of  which  the  nation's  field'  should  oft  be  weeded. 

Now  did  a  thieftaker  so  sly, 

Peep  o'er  a  hedge  with  cunning  eye, 

And  quick  espy'd  the  knight  with  solemn  air, 
Deep  in  a  ditch  where  water-cresses  grow  ; 
On  which  he  to  his  comrades  cry'd,  "  See,  ho  1" 

Then  jump'd  (unsportsman-like  upon  his  hare. 

Hare-like  Sir  Joseph  did  not  squeak,  but  bawl'd, 
With  dread  prodigiously  appall 'd 

The  thieftakers  no  ceremony  us'd ; 
But  taking  poor  Sir  Joseph  by  the  neck, 
They  bade  him  speak  ; 

But  first  with  names  their  captive  knight  abus'd. 

"  Sirs,  what  d'  ye  take  me  for?"  the  knight  exclaim'd, 
"  A  thief,"  reply'd  the  runners  with  a  curse  : 

"  And  now,  sir,  let  me  search  you,  and  be  damn'd"« — 
And  then  they  search'd  his  pockets,  fobs  and  purse  : 

But  'stead  of  pistol  dire,  and  crape, 

A  pocket  handkerchief  they  cast  their  eye  on. 
Containing  frogs  and  toads  of  various  shape, 
Dock,  daisy,  nettletop,  and  dandelion, 
To  entertain  with  great  propriety, 
The  members  of  his  sage  society  : 
Vet  would  not  alter  they  their  strong  belief, 
That  this  their  pris'ner  was  a  thief! 

"  Sirs,  I  'm  no  highwayman,"  exclaim'd  the  knight— 
«  ]\To — there,"  rejoin'd  the  runners,  "  you  are  right — 

"  A  footpad  only — yes,  we  know  your  trade — 
"  Yes,  you  're  a  pretty  babe  of  grace : 
u  We  want  no  proofs,  Old  Codger,  but  your  face  : 

"  So  come  along  with  us  Old  Blade." 


SIR  J.  BANKS  AND  THE  THIEFTAKERS. 

Twas  useless  to  resist,  or  to  complain 

In  vain,  Sir  Joseph  pleaded — 'twas  in  vain 
That  he  was  highly  titled,  that  he  swore- 


The  instant  that  poor  Banks  his  titles  counted, 
Which  to  an  F.  R.  S.  and  knight  amounted, 

His  guardians  laugh'd,   and   clapp'd,  and  cry'd; 

"  encore." 

Sir  Joseph  told  them,  that  a  neighb'ring  squire- 
Should  answer  for  it  that  he  was  no  thief; 
On  which  they  plumply  damn'd  him  for  a  liar, 
And  said  such  stories  should  not  save  his  beef; 
And  if  they  understood  their  trade, 
His  mittimus  would  soon  be  made ; 
And  forty  pounds  be  theirs,  a  pretty  sum, 
For  sending  such  a  rogue  to  kingdom  come. 

Now  to  the  squire  mov'd  pris'ner  knight  and  C«. 
The  runners  taking  him  in  tow, 

Like  privateers  of  Britain's  warlike  nation, 
Towing  a  French  East-Indiaman,  their  prize, 
So  black,  and  of  enormous  size, 

Safe  into  port  for  condemnation. 

Whether  they  ty'd  his  hands  behind  his  back. 

For  fear  the  knight  might  run  away, 
And  made,  indelicate,  his  breeches  slack, 

We  've  no  authority  to  say, 
And  now  the  country  people  gather'd  round, 
And  star'd  upon  the  knight  in  thought  profound, 

Not  on  the  system  of  Linnaeus  thinking — 
Fancying  they  saw  a  rogue  in  ©v'ry  feature  ;— 
Such  is  the  populace's  horrid  nature 

Tow'rds  people  thro'  misfortune  sinking. 

At  length,  amidst  much  mob  and  mire, 

Indeed  amidst  innumerable  ranks, 
Fatigu'd,  they  reach'd  the  mansion  of  the  squire, 

To  prove  th'  identity  of  Joseph  Banks. 

K 


£J8  A  DESCRIPTION  OF  LOXDOX 

Now  to  the  squire,  familiar  bow'd  the  knight, 
Who  knew  sir  Joseph  at  first  sight — 

What *s  strongly  mark'd,  is  quickly  known  agen — » 
And  with  a  frown  that  awe  and  dread  commanded, 
The  thieftakers  severely  reprimanded 

For  thus  mistaking  gentlemen. 

Then  bade  them  ask  a  pardon  on  their  knees, 
Of  him  that  was  a  knight  and  F.  R.  S. 

Who,  rather  than  the  higher  pow'rs  displease, 
Imagin'd  that  they  could  not  well  do  less — 

Then  on  their  knuckles  rais'd  they  hands  and  eyes, 
And  crav'd  sir  Joseph's  pardon  for  belief, 

That  when  they  jump'd  upon  him  by  surprise, 
They  took  so  great  a  gemman  for  a  thief, 

Hoping  to  mind  the  advice  of  Godly  books, 
Viz.  not  to  judge  of  people  by  their  looks. 


A  DESCRIPTION  OF  LONDON 

JTXOUSES,  churches,  mixt  together, 
Streets  unpleasant  in  all  weather ; 
Prisons,  palaces  contiguous, 
Gates,  a  bridge,  the  Thames  irriguous  ; 
Gaudy  things,  enough  to  tempt  ye, 
Shewy  outsides,  insides  empty  ; 
Bubbles,  trades,  mechanic  arts, 
Coaches,  wheelbarrows,  and  carts  ; 
Warrants,  bailiffs,  bills  unpaid, 
Lords  of  laundresses  afraid; 
Rogues,  that  nightly  rob  and  shoot  men. 
Hangmen,  aldermen  and  footmen  ; 
Lawyers,  poets,  priests,  physicians  ; 
Noble,  simple,  all  conditions ; 
Worth  beneath  a  thread -bare  cover, 
Villany  bedaub'd  all  over  j 


THE  EARL  OF  PETERBORO'  AND  THE  MOB.  99 

Women — black,  red,  fair,  and  grey, 
Prudes,  and  such  as  never  pray ; 
Handsome,  ugly,  noisy,  still ; 
Some  that  will  not,  some  that  will ; 
Many  a  beau  without  a  shilling, 
Many  a  widow  not  unwilling  ; 
Many  a  bargain,  if  you  strike  it. 
This  is  London — How  d'  ye  like  it  ? 


THE  EARL  OF  PETERBOROUGH  AND  THE 

MOB. 

(PIXDAR.) 

X  HROUGH  London  streets  upon  a  day, 
The  earl  of  Peterborough  took  his  way, 

All  in  his  pompous  coach — perhaps  to  dine— 
The  mob  of  London  took  it  in  their  head, 
This  was  the  duke  of  Marlborough  so  dread 

To  Frenchmen  on  the  Danube  and  the  Rhine. 

Unable  such  high  merit  to  reward, 

The  mob  resolv'd  to  show  a  great  regard  ; 

And  so  uniting,  join'd  their  forces 

To  draw  his  carriage,  and  dismiss  the  horses. 

The  earl  from  out  his  carriage  pok'd  his  face. 
And  told  the  mob  that  he  was  not  his  grace ; 

Then  bid  them  be  convine'd  and  look  : 
Hard  of  belief,  as  ev'n  the  hardest  Jew, 
They  told  him  that  they  better  knew, 

Then  swore  by  G —  he  was  the  duke  : 
Then  threw  their  hats  in  air  with  loud  huzzas, 
And  form'd  a  thunder  of  applause. 

Loud  bawl'd  the  earl  that  they  were  all  deceiv'd — 
l-'jud  b&wl'd  the  mob  he  should  not  be  belie v'd— • 


100  THE  GENTLEMAN  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

"  Zounds!"  cry'd  the  earl,  "  be  converts  then  this 
minute  ;*• 
So  throwing  sixpence  to  them,  "there,  there, there, 
"  Take  that,"  cry'd  Peterborough,  with  a  sneer — 

"  Now  if  you  think  I  'm  he,  the  devil  's  in  it." 


THE  GENTLEMAN  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

(PINDAR.) 

j\  MAN  of  some  small  fortune  had  a  wife, 
Sans  doute,  to  be  the  comfort  of  his  life  ; 

And  pretty  well  they  bore  the  yoke  together : 
With  little  jarring  liv'd  the  pair  one  year  ; 
Sometimes  the  matrimonial  sky  was  clear, 

At  times  'twas  dark  and  dull,  and  hazy  weather. 

Now  came  the  time  when  mistress  in  the  straw 
Did,  for  the  world's  support  her  screams  prepare  ; 

And  Slop  appea'r'd,  with  fair  obstetric  paw, 
To  introduce  his  pupil  to  our  air ; 

Whilst  in  a  neighb'ring  room  the  husband  sat, 

Musing  on  this  thing  now,  and  now  on  that ; 

Now  sighing  at  the  sorrows  of  his  wife  ; 
Praying  to  Heav'n  that  he  could  take  the  pain ; 
But  recollecting  that  such  pray'rs  were  vain? 

He  made  no  more  an  offer  of  his  life. 

As  thus  he  mus'd  in  solemn  study, 

Ideas  sometimes  clear,  and  sometimes  muddy. 

In  Betty  rush'd  with  confortable  news — 
"  Sir,  sir,  I  wish  you  joy,  I  wish  you  joy — 
«  Madam  is  brought  to  bed  of  a  fine  boy — 

«  As  fine  as  ever  stood  in  shoes." 

"  I  'm  glad  on 't,  Betty  cri'd  the  master — 
w  I  pray  there  may  be  no  disaster ; 

"  All's  with  your  mistress  well,  I  hope  ?5> 


THE  GENTLEMAN  AND  HIS  WIFE.  101 

Quoth  she,  "  AlFs  well  as  heart  can  well  desire. 
"  With  madam  and  the  fjne  young  squire  : 
"  So  likewise  says  old  doctor  Slop." 

Off  Betty  hurried  as  fast  as  she  could  scour. 

Fast  and  as  hard  as  any  horse 
That  trotteth  fourteen  miles  an  hour — 

A  pretty  tolerable  course. 

Soon  happy  Betty  came  again, 
Blowing  with  all  her  might  and  main ; 

Just  like  a  grampus,  or  a  whale  ; 
In  sounds,  too,  that  would  Calais  reach  from  Dover — 
"  Sir,  sir,  more  happy  tidings  ;  't  is  not  over — 

"  And  madam  's  brisker  than  a  nightingale  : 

"  A  fine  young  lady  to  the  world  is  come, 
"  Squawling  away  just  as  I  left  the  room 
"  Sir,  this  is  better  than  a  good  estate." 
"  Humph,"  quoth  the  happy  man,  and  scratch'd  his 
pate. 

Now  looking  up — now  looking  down; 
Not  with  a  smile,  but  somewhat  like  a  frown — 
"  Good  God,"  says  he,  "  why  was  not  I  a  cock, 
:  Who  never  feels  of  burd'ning  brats  the  shock ; 
"  Who,   Turk-like,  struts  amidst  his  madam's 
picking, 
"  Whilst  to  the  hen  belongs  the  care 
"  To  carry  them  to  eat,  or  take  the  air, 
"  Or  bed  beneath  her  wing  the  chicken?" 

Just  as  this  sweet  soliloquy  was  ended, 
He  found  affairs  not  greatly  mended  ; 

For  in  bounc'd  Bet,  her  rump  with  rapture  jig- 
ging— 
"  Another  daughter,  sir — a  charming  child." — 
u  Another  I"  cry'd  the  man,  with  wonder  wild ; 
u  Zounds !  Betty,  ask  your  mistress  if  she  'dfigging,'* 

k2 


10; 


JUSTIFICATION. 

-/jl  FARMER  once,  who  wanted  much 

A  sturdy  husbandman  ; 
And  one,  well  qualified  as  such, 

To  suit  his  thrifty  plan  : 

One  who  wras  sparing  at  his  meat, 

And  sparing  in  his  drink ; 
And,  daily  task-work  to  complete, 

Would  never  flinch  or  shrink  -9 

Induc'd  a  clodpole  to  apply, 
Commended  by*a  neighbour, 

As  "  Never  hungry,  never  dry, 
«  Nor  ever  tir'd  of  labour  i" 

But  soon,  when  hir'd,  and  set  to  work, 
He  prov'd,  to  crown  the  bam, 

As  lazy  as  a  cross-legg'd  Turk, 
Yet  turkey-like,  he  'd  cram  I 

For  bacon -rack  was  quickly  shrunk, 

So  well  he  'd  fill  his  dish  ; 
And  soon  the  cellar's  stock  was  sunk, 

He  'd  drink  so  like  a  fish  ! 

Which  made  old  Squeezum  rail  and  rave, 
Against  his  neighbour  Muggs  ; 

To  bubble  him  like  a  lying  knave, 
With  three  such  d d  humbugs. 

You  "  Never  hungry  1  ne'er  athirst ! 

"  @f  working  never  tir'd  !" 
I  wish  that  both  your  skins  had  burst, 

Ere  such  a  pest  I  hir'd. 

*  Hold,  zur,  says  Hobnail,  doant  ye  vly 
"  In  such  a  deadly  twoddle  j 


AN  IRISH  BLUNDER  WITHOUT  A  BULL        10. 

jk  If  Measter  Muggs  have  tould  a  lie, 
"  Then  vairly  crack  my  noddle. 

;*  Vor  I  do  never  hungry  be, 

"  Before  my  guts  I  vill, 
"  And  drowth  do  never  trouble  me, 

"  Before  I  gets  a  zwill. 

"  And  I  did  never  work  pursue, 

u  Till  tir'd  or  overheated  ; 
rt  Zo  Measter  Muggs  have  tould  ye  true. 

"  And  you  have  not  been  cheated." 


AN  IRISH  BLUNDER  WITHOUT  A  BULL. 

V^OLONEL  Patrick  O'Blaney,  as  honest  a  teague, 
As  ever  took  snuff  to  repel  pest  or  plague, 
Having  got  a  French  snuff  box,  of  fiapicr  machee, 
Which  to  open  requir'd  much  pains,  do  you  see ; 
Always  kept  a  bent  sixpence  at  hand  in  his  pocket., 
And  call'd  it  his  key,  by  the  which  to  unlock  it; 
As  by  niggling  and  wedging  it  under  the  lid, 
He  came  at  his  rappee  that  was  under  it  hid  : 
But  one  day  when  he  wanted  a  pinch  for  a  friend, 
He  search'd  for  his  tester,  but  all  to  no  end, 
Till  at  last  'twixt  the  pocket  and  lining  he  found  it ; 
When  in  rage  he  cried — «  Arrah,  the   devil  con- 
found it, 
I  '11  engage  you  don't  serve  me  the  same  trick  again, 
For  to  make  me  after  thus  hunting  in  vain." 
So  opening  the  box  by  the  help  of  the  tizzy, 
And  feaking  his  nose  till  his  noddle  was  dizzy, 
He  chuck'd  in  the  coin,  and  exclaimed  with  a  shrug, 
While  tight  went  the  rim   down — "  So  there  you 

lie  snug  ; 
And  my  hide-and-seek  friend,  I  beg  leave  to  remind 

ye, 
That  the  next  time  I  want  you,  I  '11  know  where  to 
find  ye." 


A 


104> 
BIEjSTSEANCE. 

(PINDAR.) 


T  Paris,  sometime  since,  a  murd'ring  man, 
A  German,  and  a  most  unlucky  chap, 
Sad,  stumbling  at  the  threshold  of  his  plan, 
Fell  into  Justice's  strong  trap. 

The  bungler  was  condemn'd  to  grace  the  wheel, 
On  which  the  dullest  fibres  learn  to  feel ; 

His  limbs  secundum  artem  to  be  broke 
Amidst  ten  thousand  people,  p'rhaps,  or  more ; 

When  ever  Monsieur  Ketch  appli'd  a  stroke, 
The  culprit,  like  a  bullock,  made  a  roar. 

A  flippant  petit  maitre  skipping  by, 
Stepp'd  up  to  him,  and  check'd  him  for  his  cry — 
"  Boh  !"  quoth  the  German  ;  "  aa't  I  'pon  the  wheel  \ 
"  D'  ye  tink  my  nerfs  and  bons  can't  feel  ?" 

u  Sir,"  quoth  the  beau ;  "  do  n't,  do  n't  be  in  a  passion ; 
"  I  've  nought  to  say  about  your  situation  ; 
"  But  making  such  a  hideous  noise  in  France, 
"  Fellow,  is  contrary  to  biemeance." 


AN  ANATOMICAL  EPITAPH  ON  AN  IN- 
VALID. 


H 


(WRITTEN  fiY   HIMSELF.) 


.ERE  lies  an  head,  that  often  ach'dr 
Here  lie  two  hands  that  always  shak'd  : 
Here  lies  a  brain  of  odd  conceit ; 
Here  lies  a  heart  that  often  beat : 
Here  lie  two  eyes  that  daily  wept, 
And  in  the  night  but  seldom  slept ; 
Here  lies  a  tongue  that  whining  talk'd 
Here  lie  two  feet  that  feebly  walk'd  ; 


THE  PI£  AND  THE  MAGPIE.  105 

Here  lie  the  midriff  and  the  breast, 
With  loads  of  indigestion  prest; 
Here  lies  the  liver,  full  of  bile, 
That  ne'er  secreted  proper  chyle  ; 
Here  lie  the  bowels,  human  tripes. 
Tortur'd  with  wind,  and  twisting  gripes  ; 
Here  lies  the  livid  dab,  the  spleen, 
The  source  of  life's  sad  tragic  scene ; 
That  left  side  weight  that  clogs  the  blood, 
And  stagnates  nature's  circling  flood  ; 
Here  lie  the  nerves,  so  often  twite h'd 
With  painful  cramps  and  poignant  stitch  ; 
Here  lies  the  back,  oft  rackt  with  pains  ; 
Corroding  kidneys,  loins  and  reins  ; 
Here  lies  the  skin,  by  scurvy  fed, 
With  pimples  and  eruptions  red  ;• 
Here  lies  the  man  from  top  to  toe, 
That  fabric  fram'd  for  pain  and  woe. 


THE  PIG  AND  THE  MAGPIE. 

(PIXDAR.) 

V./OCKING  his  tail,  a  saucy  prig, 
A  Magpie  hopp'd  upon  a  Pig, 

To  pull  some  hair,  forsooth,  to  line  his  nest ; 
And  with  such  ease  began  the  hair  attack, 
As  thinking  the  fee  simple  of  the  back 

WTas  by  himself,  and  not  the  pig,  possest. 

The  Boar  look'd  up  as  thunder  black  to  Mag, 
Who,  squinting  down  on  him  like  an  arch  wag, 

Inform 'd  Mynheer  some  bristles  must  be  torn; 
Then  busy  went  to  work,  not  nicely  culling ; 
Got  a  good  handsome  beakfull  by  good  puiling, 

And  flew  without  a  "  thank  ye"  to  his  thorf*. 

The  pig  set  up  a  dismal  yelling  ; 
Follow'dthe  robber  to  his  dwelling, 


106 


Who,  like  a  fool,  had  built  it  midst  a  bramble  : 
In  manfully  he  sallied,  full  of  might, 
Determin'd  to  obtain  his  right, 

And  midst  the  bushes  now  began  to  scramble. 

He  drove  the  magpie,  tore  his  nest  to  rags, 
And,  happy  on  the  downfall,  pour'd  his  brags : 

But  ere  he  from  the  brambles  came  alack  ! 
His  ears  and  eyes  were  miserably  torn, 
His  bleeding  hide  in  such  a  plight  forlorn, 

He  could  not  count  ten  hairs  upon  his  back. 


A  COUNTRY  QUARTER  SESSIONS. 

T- 
HREE  or  four  parsons,  full  of  October, 
Three  or  four  'squires,  between  drunk  and  sober 
Three  or  four  lawyers,  three  or  four  liars  ; 
Three  or  four  constables,  three  or  four  cryers; 
Three  or  four  parishes  bringing  appeals, 
Three  or  four  writings,  and  three  or  four  seals  ; 
Three  or  four  bastards,  three  or  four  whores, 
Tag,  rag,  and  bobtail,  ihree  or  four  scores; 
Three  or  four  statutes,  misunderstood  ; 
Three  or  four  paupers,  all  praying  for  food  ; 
Three  or  four  roads,  that  never  were  mended; 
Three  or  four  scolds — and  the  session  is  ended. 


M 


EPITAPH  ON  A  BLACKSMITH. 


,Y  sledge  and  hammer  lie  declin'd ; 
My  bellows  too  have  lost  their  wind ; 
My  fire's  extinct,  my  forge  decay'd ; 
My  vice  is  in  the  dust  all  laid  ; 
My  coal  is  spent,  my  iron  gone, 
My  nails  are  drove,  my  work  is  done. 
My  fire-dried  corpse  lies  here  at  rest ; 
My  soul,  smoke -like,  soars  to  be  blest 


107 


THE  FIRST  PAIR. 

xjlDAM  alone  could  not  be  easy, 
So  he  must  have  a  wife,  an'  please  ye  J 
And  how  did  he  procure  this  wife, 
To  cheer  his  solitary  life  ? 
Out  of  a  rib,  sir,  from  his  side, 
Was  form'd  this  necessary  bride  : 
But  how  did  he  the  pain  beguile  ? 
How  ? — He  slept  sweetly  all  the  while  ; 
And  when  this  rib  was  re-applied, 
In  woman's  form  to  Adam's  side, 
How,  then,  I  pray  you,  did  it  answer  ? 
"  He  never  slept  so  sweet  again,  sir." 


THE  THOUGHT,  OR,  A  SONG  OF  SIMIL1ES, 


I 


.'VE  thought,  the  fair  Narcissa  cries  ; 
What  is  it  like,  sir? — H  Like  your  eyes— 
"  'Tis  like  a  chair — 'tis  like  a  key — 
"  'Tis  like  a  purge — 'tis  like  a  flea — 
"  'Tis  like  a  beggar — like  the  sun — 
•*  'Tis  like  the  Dutch — 'tis  like  the  moon — 
"  'Tis  like  a  kilderkin  of  ale — 
"  'Tis  like  a  doctor — like  a  whale — " 
Why  are  my  eyes,  sir,  like  a  sword  ? 
For  that's  the  thought,  upon  my  word. 
"  Ah  1  witness  every  pang  I  feel ; 
u  The  deaths  they  give  the  likeness  tell. 
u  A  sword  is  like  a  chair  /ou'li  find, 
**  Because  'tis  most  an  end  behind. 
"  'Tis  like  a  key,  for  'twill  undo  one  ; 
"  'Tis  like  a  purge,  for  'twill  run  thro'  one  ; 
"  'Tis  like  a  flea,  and  reason  good, 
"  'Tis  often  drawing  human  blood." 
Why  like  a  beggar  ? — a  You  shall  hear; 
*  'Tis  often  carried  'fore  the  May'r  ; 


108  THE  ASTRONOMER'S  ROOM' 

"  'Tis  like  the  sun,  because  'tis  gilt, 

"  Besides  it  travels  in  a  belt. 

"  '"Tis  like  the  Dutch,  we  plainly  see, 

u  Because  that  state,  whenever  we 

H  A  push  for  our  own  int'rest  make, 

u  Does  instantly  our  sides  forsake." 

The  moon  ? — "  Why,  when  all  's  said  and  done, 

"  A  sword  is  very  like  the  moon ; 

"  For  if  his  majesty  (God  bless  him) 

"  When  county  sheriff  comes  t'  address  him, 

M  Is  pleas'd  his  favours  to  bestow 

"  On  him  before  him  kneeling  low, 

"  This  o'er  his  shoulders  glitters  bright, 

u  And  gives  the  glory  to  the  knight  (night)  : 

"  'Tis  like  a  kilderkin,  no  doubt, 

»l  For  it  's  not  long  in  drawing  out. 

"  'Tis  like  a  Doctor  ;  for  who  will 

"  Dispute  a  doctor's  pow'r  to  kill  ? 

But  why  a  sword  is  like  a  wThale 

Ts  no  such  easy  thing  to  tell ; 

"  But  since  all  swords  are  swords,  d'ye  see, 

"  Why,  let  it  then  a  backsword  be, 

;i  Which,  if  well  us'd,  will  seldom  fail 

"  To  raise  up  somewhat  like  a  wrhale." 


THE  ASTRONOMER'S  ROOM. 

VJnE  day  I  call'd,  and,  Philoout, 
I  op'd  the  door,  and  look'd  about ; 
When  all  his  goods  being  full  in  view, 
1  took  this  inventory  true : 

Item. — A  bed  without  a  curtain, 
\  broken  jar  to  empty  dirt  in, 
A  candlestick,  a  greasy  night-cap, 
A  spitting-pot  to  catch  what  might  hap  ; 
Two  stockings  darn'd  with  numerous  stitches, 
A  piece  of  shirt,  a  pair  of  breeches  ; 


THE  FLY  AND  SPIDER.  109 

A  three  legg'd  stool,  a  four  legg'd  table, 

Were  fill'd  with  books  unfit  for  rabble  ; 

Sines,  tangents,  secants,  radius,  co-sines, 

Subtangents,  segments,  and  all  those  signs ; 

Enough  to  shew  the  man  who  made  'em 

Was  full  as  mad  as  he  who  read  'em  : 

An  almanack  of  six  years  standing, 

A  cup  with  ink,  and,  one  with  sand  in  ; 

One  corner  held  his  books  and  chest, 

And  round  the  floor  were  strew'd  the  rest  ; 

That  all  things  might  be  like  himself, 

He  'd  neither  closet,  draw  or  shelf ; 

Here,  p — pot,  sauce-pot,  broken  platter. 

Appear'd  like  heterogeneous  matter. 

In  ancient  days  the  walls  were  white, 

But  who  'gainst  damps  and  snails  can  fight  ? 

They  're  now  in  wreathy  ringlets  bound, 

Some  square,  some  oval,  and  some  round 

The  antiquarian  there  may  find 

Each  hieroglyphic  to  his  mind  ; 

Such  faces  there  may  fancy  trace, 

As  never  yet  knew  time  or  place  ; 

And  he  who  studies  maps  or  plans, 

Has  all  the  work  done  to  his  hands ; 

In  short,  the  room,  the  goods,  and  author, 

Appear'd  to  be  one  made  for  t'  other. 


THE  FLY  AND  SPIDER. 

(PINDAH.) 

"  CrOOD-MORROW,  dear   Miss   Fly,"  quoiit 

gallant  Grim, 
"  Good-morrow,  sir," — reply'd  Miss  Fly  to  him. 

"  Walk  in,  Miss,  pray,  and  see  what  I  'm  about." 
«  I  'm  much  oblig'd  t'  ye,  sir,"  Miss  Fly  rejoin'd  ; 
"  My  eyes  are  both  so  very  good,  I  find, 

"  That  I  can  plainly  see  the  whole  nvithout" 

L 


110  A  TALE. 

11  Fine  weather,  Miss  !" — (i  Yes,  very,  very  fine," 

Quoth  Miss — "  prodigious  fine  indeed!" 
■**  But  why  so  coy  ?"  quoth  Grim,  "  that  you  decline 
"  To  put  within  my  bow'r  your  pretty  head  ?" 
"  *Tis  simply  this," 
Quoth  cautious  Miss  ; 
*•'  I  fear  you  *d  like  my  pretty  head  so  well, 
"  You  'd  keep  it  for  yourself,  sir  : — who  can  tell  ?" 

"  Then  let  me  squeeze  your  lovely  hand,  my  dear, 

"  And  prove  that  all  your  dread  is  foolish,  vain." 
u  I  *ve  a  sore  finger,  sir  ;  nay,  more,  I  fear, 

"  You  really  would  not  let  it  go  again." 
"  Poh,  poh,  child,  pray  dismiss  your  idle  dread ; 
u  I  would  not  hurt  a  hair  of  that  sweet  head, — 

"  Come,  then,  with  one  kind  kiss  of  friendship 
meet  me." 
u  La  sir,"  quoth  Miss,  with  seeming  artless  tongue, 
"  I  fear  our  salutation  would  be  long  ; 

"  So  loving,  too,  I  fear  that  you  would— eat  me" 

So  saying,  with  a  smile  she  left  the  rogue, 

To  weave  more  lines  of  death,  and  plan  for  prog. 


A  TALE. 

(BY    THE    REV.    MR.    BISHOP.) 

JN  O  plate  had  John  and  Joan  to  hoard, 
Plain  folk  in  humble  plight ; 

One  only  tankard  crown'd  their  board.. 
And  that  was  fill'd  each  night : 

Along  whose  inner  bottom  sketch'd, 

In  pride  of  chubby  grace, 
Some  rude  engraver's  hand  had  etcli'd. 

A  baby  Angel's  face* 


POVERTY  AND  POETRY  1 1  Tt 

John  swallow'd  first  a  mocTrate  sup  ; 

But  Joan  was  not  like  John  ; 
For  when  her  lips  once  touch'd  the  cup.^ 

She  swill'd  till  all  was  gone. 

John  often  urg'd  her  to  drink  fair, 

But  she  ne'er  chang'd  a  jot  ; 
She  lov'd  to  see  the  angel  there, 

And  therefore  drain'd  the  pot. 

When  John  found  all  remonstrance  vain. 

Another  card  he  play'd  ; 
And,  where  the  angel  stood  so  plain, 

He  got  a  devil  pourtray'd. 

Joan  saw  the  horns,  Joan  saw  the  tail, 

Yet  Joan  as  stoutly  quaff 'd, 
And  ever  when  she  seiz'd  her  ale., 

She  clear' d  it  at  a  draught. 

John  star'd,  with  wonder  petrify'd, 

His  hairs  rose  on  his  pate ; 
And,  "  Why  dost  guzzle  now,"  he  cry'd, 

u  At  this  enormous  rate." 

*  O  John,"  said  she,  "  am  I  to  blame  I 

I  can  't  in  conscience  stop  : 
For  sure  *t  would  be  a  burning  shame, 

To  leave  the  devil  a  dro/i  /" 


POVERTY  AND  POETRY. 

A  WAS  sung  of  old,  how  one  Amphion 
Could  by  his  verses  tame  a  lion ; 
And  by  his  strange  enchanting  tunes 
Make  bears  and  wolves  dance  rigadoons ; 
His  songs  could  call  the  timber  down,^ 
And  form  it  into  house  or  town  ; 


112         VISIT  OF  A  KING  TO  A  CATHEDRAL. 

But  it  is  plain  now  in  these  times 
No  house  is  rais'd  by  poet's  rhymes  ; 
They  for  themselves  can  only  rear 
A  few  old  castles  in  the  air. 

Poor  are  the  brethren  of  the  bays, 
Down  from  high  strains  to  ekes  and  ayes  ; 
The  muses  too  are  virgins  yet, 
And  may  be  till  they  portions  get; 
Yet  still  the  doting  rhymer  dreams, 
And  sings  of  Helicon's  bright  streams ; 
But  Helicon,  for  all  his  clatter, 
Yields  nothing  but  insipid  water  ; 
Yet,  ev'n  athirst,  he  sweetly  sings 
Of  nectar  and  Elysian  springs. 
The  grave  physician,  who  by  physic, 
Like  death,  dispatches  him  that  is  sick, 
Pursues  a  sure  and  thriving  trade  ; 
Tho'  patients  die,  the  doctor  's  paid  ; 
Licens'd  to  kill,  he  gains  a  palace, 
For  what  another  mounts  a  gallows. 

In  shady  groves  the  muses  play, 
And  love  in  flow'ry  meads  to  stray ; 
Pleas'd  with  a  bleaky  barren  ground, 
Where  rip'ning  fruits  are  never  found. 

But  then  some  say  you  purchase  fame, 
And  gain  a  never-dying  name  ; 
Great  recompense  for  real  trouble  ! 
To  be  rewarded  with  a  bubble. 

Thus  soldiers,  who  in  many  battles 
Get  bangs  and  blows,  and  God  knows  what  else, 
Are  paid  with  fame  and  wooden  leg, 
And  gain  a  pass,  with  leave  to  beg. 


VISIT  OF  A  KING  TO  A  CATHEDRAL 

(PINDAR.) 

OOMETIMES,  great  kings  will  condescend 
A  little  with  their  subjects  to  unbend  ! 


VISIT  OF  A  KING  TO  A  CATHEDRAL.         113 

An  instance  take : — A  king  of  this  great  land, 

In  days  of  yore,  we  understand, 
Did  visit  Sal'sbury's  old  church  so  fair  : 

An*parl  of  Pembroke  vvas  the  monarch's  guide  ; 

Incog,  they  travell'd,  shuffling  side  by  side  ■ 
And  into  the  cathedral  stole  the  pair. 

The  verger  met  them  in  his  blue  silk  gown, 
And  humbly  bow'd  his  neck  with  rev'rence  down, 

Low  as  an  ass  to  lick  a  lock  of  hay  : 

Looking  the  frighted  verger  through  and  through, 
All  with  his  eye-glass — u  Well  sir,  who  are  you  ? 

"  What,  what,  sir  ?— hey,  sir  ?"  deign'd  the  king  to 
say. 

"  I  am  the  verger  here  most  mighty  king: 

li  In  this  cathedral  I  do  ev'ry  thing  ; 
"  Sweep  it,  an't  please  ye,  sir,  and  keep  it  clean." 

"  Hey  ?  verger  !  verger! — you  the  verger  ?  hey?"' 

"  Yes  please  your  glorious  majesty  I  be," 
The  verger  answer'd,  with  the  mildest  mien. 

Then  turn'd  the  king  about  towards  the  peer, 
And  wink'd  and  laugh'd  ;  then  whisper'd  in  his  ear, 
"  Heyr  hey — what,  what — fine  fellow,  'pon  ray  word : 
"  I  '11  knight  him,  knight  him,  knight  him — hey,  my 
«  lord  ?" 

Then  with  his  glass,  as  hard  as  eye  could  strain, 
He  kenn'd  the  trembling  verger  o'er  again. 

"  He  's  a  poor  verger,  sire,"  his  lordship  cry'd : 
"  Sixpence  would  handsomely  requite  him." 

"  Poor  verger,  verger,  hey?"  the  king  reply'd: 
"  No,  no,  then,  we  won't  knight  him — no,  won't 
"  knight  him. 

Now  to  the  lofty  roof  the  king  did  raise 
His  glass,  and  skipp'd  it  o'er  with  sounds  of  praise 
For  thus  his  marv'ling  majesty  did  speak.; 

T      ° 


114        THE  DOCTOR  AND  HIS  APPRENTICE. 

"  Fine  roof  this,  master  verger,  quite  complete  ; 
"  High — high  and  lofty  too,  and  clean  and  neat : 
u  What,  verger,  what  ?  mop,  mop  it  once  a  week  ?': 

"  An't  please  your  majesty,"  with  marv'ling  chops. 
The  verger  answer'd, "  we  have  got  no  mops 

"  In  Sal'sb'ry  that  will  reach  so  high.'* 
;'  Not  mop,  no,  no,  not  mop  it,"  quoth  the  king- — 
"  No,  sir,  our  Sal'sb'ry  mops  do  no  such  thing  ; 

"  They  might  as  well  pretend  to  scrub  the  sky.'5 


THE  DOCTOR  AND  HIS  APPRENTICE. 

J\.  PUPIL  of  the  i&sculapian  school 
Was  just  prepar'd  to  quit  his  master's  rule ; 
Not  that  he  knew  his  trade,  as  it  appears, 
But  that  he  then  had  learnt  it  seven  veal's. 

Yet  think  not  that  in  knowledge  he  was  chcated- 
A1I  that  he  had  to  study  still, 

s,  when  a  man  was  well  or  ill, 
I  how,  if  sick,  he  should  be  treated. 

One  morn  he  thus  address'd  his  master — 
u  Dear  sir,  my  honor'd  father  bids  me  say, 
"  If  I  could  now  and  then  a  visit  pay, 
"  He  thinks,  with  you, 
"  To  notice  how  you  do, 
u  My  bus'ness  I  might  learn  a  little  faster/' 

•<  The  thought  is  happy,"  the  preceptor  cries ; 
-<  A  better  method  he  could  scarce  devise  ; 
'<  So  Bob,  (his  pupil's  name)  it  shall  be  so, 
•'  And  when  I  next  pay  visits  you  shall  go." 

To  bring  that  hour,  alas  !  time  briskly  fled  : 

With  dire  intent, 

Away  they  went, 
\m\  now  behold  them  at  a  patient's  bed. 


THE  DOCTOR  AND  HIS  APPRENTICE.         11. 

The  master-doctor  solemnly  perus'd 
His  victim's  face,  and  o'er  his  symptoms  mus'd  ; 
Look'd  wise,  said  nothing — an  unerring  way, 
Wheij  people  nothing  have  to  say  : 

Then  felt  his  pulse,  and  smelt  his  cane, 
And  paus'd  and  blink'd,  and  smelt  again, 

And  briefly  of  his  corps  perform  each  motion  : 
Manoeuvres  that  for  death's  platoon  are  meant, 
A  kind  of  a  make  ready  and  present, 

Before  the  fell  discharge  of  pill  and  potion. 

At  length  the  patient's  wife  he  thus  address'd : 
"  Madam,  your  husband's  danger  's  great ; 
"  And  (what  will  never  his  complaint  abate) 
"  The  man  's  been  eating  oysters  I  perceive' 
"  Dear  !  you  're  a  witch,  I  verily  believe," 

Madam  replied,  and  to  the  truth  confess'd. 

Skill  so  prodigious  Bobby  too  admir'd  ; 

And  home  returning,  of  the  sage  inquir'd 
How  these  same  oysters  came  into  his  head  ; 

"  Psha  !  my  dear  Bob,  the  thing  was  plain — 

"  Sure  that  can  ne'er  distress  thy  brain: 
"  I  saw  the  shells  lie  underneath  the  bed  I" 

So  wise  by  such  a  lesson  grown, 

Next  day  Bob  ventur'd  forth  alone, 
And  to  the  self-same  suff'rer  paid  his  court 

But  soon,  with  haste  and  wonder  out  of  breath, 

Return'd  the  stripling  minister  of  death, 
And  to  his  master  made  this  dread  report : 

u  Why  sir,  we  ne'er  can  keep  that  patient  under— 
"  Zounds  !  such  a  maw  I  never  came  across  ! 

"  The  fellow  must  be  dying,  and  no  wonder, 
"  For — if  he  has  n't  eat  a  horse  !" 

*<  A  horse  1"  the  elder  man  of  physic  cried, 
As  if  he  meant  his  pupil  to  deride — 


116    ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  BLACKSMITH 

a  How  came  so  wild  a  notion  in  your  head  ?" 
u  How  !  think  not  in  my  duty  I  was  idle  ; 

u  Like  you,  I  took  a  peep  beneath  the  bed, 
"  And  there  I  saw — a  saddle  and  a  bridle  VI 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  BLACKSMITH. 


W: 


ITH  the  nerves  of  a  Sampson,  this  son  of  the 
sledge, 
By  the  anvil  his  livelihood  got, 
With  the  skill  of  a  Vulcan  could  temper  an  edge, 
And  strike — while  the  iron  was  hot. 

By  forging  he  liv'd — yet  never  was  tried 
Or  condemn'd  by  the  laws  of  the  land  ; 

But  still  it  is  certain,  and  can't  be  denied, 
He  often  was — burnt  in  the  hand. 

With  the  sons  of  St.  Crispin  no  kindred  he  claim'd? 

With  the  last  he  had  nothing  to  do ; 
He  handled  no  awl,  and  yet  in  his  time 

Made  many  an  excellent  shoe. 

He  blew  up  no  coals  of  sedition,  but  still 

His  bellows  were  always  in  blast  ; 
And  I  will  acknowledge  (deny  it  who  will) 

That  one  vice,  and  but  one,  he  possess'd. 

No  actor  was  he,  nor  concern'd  with  the  stage, 

No  audience  to  awe  him  appear'd  ; 
Yet  oft  in  his  shop  (like  a  crowd  in  a  rage) 

The  voice  of  hissing  was  heard. 

Tho'  steeling  of  axes  was  part  of  his  cares, 

In  thieving  he  never  was  found, 
And  tho*  he  was  constantly  beating  on  bars* 

No  vessel  he  e'er  ran  aground. 


THE  WELL  OF  ST.  KEYNE.  117 

Alas  !  and  alack  !  what  more  can  I  say 

Of  Vulcan's  unfortunate  son  ? 
The  priest  and  the  sexton  have  borne  him  away, 

And  the  sound  of  his  hammer  is  done. 


THE  WELL  OF  ST.  KEYNE. 

The  reported  virtue  of  the  -water  is  this,  that  whether  husband 
or  wife  come  first  to  drink  thereof,  they  get  the  mattery 
thereby. 

J\.  WELL  there  is  in  the  west  country, 

And  a  clearer  one  never  was  seen  ; 
There  is  not  a  wife  in  the  west  country 

But  has  heard  of  the  well  of  St.  Keyne 

An  oak  and  an  elm  tree  stand  beside, 

And  behind  does  an  ash  tree  grow, 
And  a  willow  from  the  bank  above 

Droops  to  the  water  below. 

A  traveller  came  to  the  well  of  St.  Keyne ; 

Joyfully  he  drew  nig-h, 
For  from  cock-crow  he  had  been  travelling*, 

And  there  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky. 

lie  drank  of  the  water  so  cool  and  clear,' 

For  thirsty  and  hot  was  he, 
And  he  sat  down  upon  the  bank, 

Under  the  willow  tree. 

There  came  a  man  from  the  neighbouring  town 

At  the  well  to  fill  his  pail ; 
On  the  well-side  he  rested  it, 

And  he  bade  the  stranger  hail. 

Now  art  thou  a  batchelor,  stranger  ?  quoth  he, 

For,  an  if  thou  hast  a  wife, 
The  happiest  draught  thou  hast  drank  this  day, 

That  ever  thou  didst  in  thy  life. 


118  THE  FAKENHAM  GHOST. 

Or  hast  thy  good-woman,  if  one  thou  hast, 

Ever  here  in  Cornwall  been  ? 
For  an  if  she  have,  I  '11  venture  my  life 

She  has  drank  of  the  well  of  St.  Keyne. 

I  have  left  a  good  woman  who  never  was  here, 

The  stranger  he  made  reply, 
But  that  my  draught  should  be  better  for  that, 

I  pray  you  answer  me  why. 

St.  Keyne,  quoth  the  countryman,  many  a  time 

Drank  of  this  chrystal  well, 
And  before  the  angel  summoned  her, 

She  laid  on  the  water  a  spell. 

If  the  husband  of  this  gifted  well 

Shall  drink  before  his  wife, 
A  happy  man  thenceforth  is  he, 

For  he  shall  be  master  for  life. 

But  if  the  wife  should  drink  of  it  first — 

God  help  the  husband  then  ! 
The  stranger  stoop'd  to  the  well  of  St.  Keyne, 

And  drank  of  the  water  again. 

You  drank  of  the  well,  I  warrant,  betimes  ? 

He  to  the  countryman  said ; 
But  the  countryman  smiFd  as  the  stranger  spake, 

And  sheepishly  shook  his  head. 

I  hasten'd  as  soon  as  the  wedding  was  done, 

And  left  my  wife  in  the  porch  ; 
But  i'  faith  she  had  been  wiser  than  me, 

For  she  took  a  bottle  to  church. 


THE  FAKENHAM  GHOST. 

(bloomfield.) 

A  HE  lawns  were  dry  in  Euston  Park  ; 
(Here  truth  inspires  my  tale) 


THE  FAKEKHAM  GH0S1  119 

The  lonely  foot-path  still  and  dark, 
Led  over  hill  and  dale. 

Benighted  was  an  ancient  dame, 

And  fearful  haste  she  made 
To  gain  the  vale  of  Fakenham, 

And  hail  its  willow  shade. 

Her  footsteps  knew  no  idle  stops, 

But  follow'd  faster  still ; 
And  echo'd  to  the  darksome  copse 

That  whisper'd  on  the  hill. 

Where  clam'rous  rooks,  yet  scarcely  hush'd, 

Bespoke  a  people'd  shade  ; 
And  many  a  wing  the  foliage  brush'd, 

And  hov'ring  circuits  made. 

The  dappled  herd  of  grazing  deer 

That  sought  the  shades  by  day, 
Now  started  from  her  path  with  fear, 

And  gave  the  stranger  way. 

Darker  it  grew  ;  and  darker  fears 

Came  o'er  her  troubled  mind ; 
When  now,  a  short  quick  step  she  hears 

Come  patting  close  behind. 

She  tum'd ;  it  stopt ! — nought  could  she  see 

Upon  the  gloomy  plain 
But  as  she  strove  the  sprite  to  flee, 

She  heard  the  same  again. 

Now  terror  seiz'd  her  quaking  frame  : 

For,  where  the  path  was  bare, 
The  trotting  ghost  kept  on  the  same ! 

She  mutter'd  many  a  prayer. 

Vet  once  again,  amidst  her  fright, 
She  tried  what  sight  could  do  ; 


120  THE  FAKENHAM  GHOST. 

When  through  the  cheating  glooms  of  night 
A  monster  stood  in  view. 

Regardless  of  whate'er  she  felt, 

It  follow'd  down  the  plain ! 
She  own'd  her  sins,  and  down  she  knelt, 

And  said  her  prayers  again. 

Then  on  she  sped  ;  and  hope  grew  strong, 

The  white  park  gate  in  view  ; 
Which  pushing  hard,  so  long  it  swung 

That  ghost  and  all  pass'd  through. 

Loud  fell  the  gate  against  the  post ! 

Her  heart-strings  like  to  crack : 
For  much  she  fear'd  the  grisly  ghost 

Would  leap  upon  her  back. 

Still  on,  pat,  pat,  the  goblin  went, 

As  it  had  done  before  ; 
Her  strength  and  resolution  spent, 

She  fainted  at  the  door. 

Out  came  her  husband,  much  surpris'd : 

Out  came  her  daughter  dear  ; 
Good-natur'd  souls !  all  unadvis'd 

Of  what  they  had  to  fear. 

The  candle  's  gleam  pierc'd  through  the  night, 
Some  short  space  o'er  the  green ; 

And  there  the  little  trotting  sprite 
Distinctly  might  be  seen. 

An  ass's  foal  had  lost  its  dam 

Within  the  spacious  park ; 
And,  simple  as  the  playful  lamb, 

Had  foliow'd  in  the  dark. 

No  goblin  he ;  no  imp  of  sin : 
No  crimes  had  ever  known. 


REPORT  OF  AN  ADJUDGED  CASE.  121 

They  took  the  shaggy  stranger  in, 
And  rear'd  him  as  their  own. 

His  little  hoofs  would  rattle  round 

Upon  the  cottage  floor  : 
The  matron  learn'd  to  love  the  sound 

That  frightened  her  before. 

A  favourite  the  ghost  became ; 

And  'twas  his  fate  to  thrive: 
And  long  he  liv'd,  and  spread  his  fame, 

And  kept  the  joke  alive. 

Tor  many  a  laugh  went  through  the  vale, 

And  some  conviction  too  : — 
Each  thought  some  other  goblin  tale, 

Perhaps,  was  just  as  true. 


REPORT  OF  AN  ADJUDGED  CASE. 

(COWPER.) 

JlJ  ET  WEEN  nose  and  eyes  a  strange  contest  arose^ 
The  spectacles  set  them  unhappily  wrong  ; 

The  point  in  dispute  was,  as  all  the  world  knows, 
To  which  the  said  spectacles  ought  to  belong. 

So  the  tongue  was  the  lawyer,  and  argued  the  cause, 
With  a  great  deal  of  skill,  and  a  wig  full  of  learn- 
ing ; 

While  chief  baron  ear  sat  to  balance  the  laws, 
So  fam'd  for  his  talent  in  nicely  discerning. 

In  behalf  of  the  nose,  it  will  quickly  appear, 

And  your  lordship,  he  said,  will  undoubtedly  find. 

That  the  nose  has  had  spectacles  always  in  wear, 
Which  amounts  to  possession  time  out  of  mind. 

M 


1 22  CANUTE  AND  THE  OCEA.N . 

Then,  holding  the  spectacles  up  to  the  court — 
Your   lordship   observes  they  are   made    with  a 
straddle, 

As  wide  as  the  ridge  of  the  nose  is ;  in  short, 
Design'd  to  sit  close  to  it,  just  like  a  saddle. 

Again,  would  your  lordship  a  moment  suppose 
('Tis  a  case  that  has  happen'd,  and  may  be  again) 

That  the  visage  or  countenance  had  not  a  nose, 
Pray  who  would  or   who  could   wear   spectacles 
then  ? 

On  the  whole  it  appears,  and  my  argument  shews, 
With  a  reasoning  the  court  will  never  condemn, 

That  the  spectacles  plainly  wrere  made  for  the  nose, 
And  the  nose  was  as  plainly  intended  for  them. 

Then  shifting  his  side,  as  a  lawyer  knows  how, 
He  pleaded  again  in  behalf  of  the  eyes  ; 

But  what  were  his  arguments  few  people  know,    k 
For  the  court  did  not  think  they  were  equally  wise. 

So  his  lordship  decreed,  with  a  grave  solemn  tone, 
Decisive  and  clear,  without  one  if  or  but — 

That  whenever  the  nose  put  his  spectacles  on, 
By  day -light  or  candle-light — eyes  should  be  shut. 


CANUTE  AND  THE  OCEAN. 

(riNDAE.) 

V^ANUTE  was  by  his  nobles  taught,  to  fancy. 
That,  by  a  kind  of  royal  necromancy, 

He  had  the  pow'r,  old  Oeean  to  controul  ; 
Down  rush'd  the  royal  Dane  upon  the  strand, 
And  issu'd,  like  a  Solomon,  command  : 
Poor  soul  ! 


CANUTE  AND  THE  OCEAN.       12 

!  Go  back,  ye  waves,  ye  blustering  rogues  1  (quoth  he'. 
-  Touch  not  your  lord  and  master,  Sea  1 — 

1  For,  by  my  pow'r  almighty,  if  you  do  ;' 
Then  staring  vengeance, — out  he  held  a  stick, 
Vowing  to  drive  old  Ocean  to  old  nick, 

Should  he  ev'n  wet  the  latchet  of  his  shoe. 

The  Sea  retir'd:  the  monarch  fierce  rush'd  on, 
And  look'd,  as  if  he  'd  drive  him  from  the  land  ; 

But  Sea,  not  caring  to  be  put  upon, 
Made,  for  a  moment,  a  bold  stand  ; 

Not  only  made  a  stand  did  Mr.  Ocean, 
But  to  his  honest  waves  he  made  a  motion, 

And  bid  them  give  the  king  a  hearty  trimming  ; 
The  orders  seem'd  a  deal  the  waves  to  tickle  : 
For  soon  they  put  his  majesty  in  pickle ; 

And  set  his  royalties,  like  geese,  a  swimming. 

All  hands  aloft,  with  one  tremendous  roar  ; 
Soon  did  they  make  him  wish  himself  on  shore  ; 

Flis  head  and  ears  most  handsomely  they  dous'd  ; 
Just  like  a  porpoise,  with  one  gen'ral  shout, 
The  waves  so  tumbled  the  poor  king  about; 

No  Anabaptist  e'er  was  half  so  sous'd. 

At  length  to  land  he  crawl'd,  a  half-drown'd  thing. 
Indeed  more  like  a  crab,  than  like  a  king; 

And  found  his  courtiers  making  rueful  faces. 
But  what  said  Canute  to  the  lords  and  gentry, 
"Who  haii'd  him  from  the  water,  on  his  entry, 

All  trembling  for  their  lives  or  places  ? 

*  ?>Iy  lords,  and  gentlemen,  by  your  advice, 

4  I  've  had,  with  Mr.  Sea,  a  pretty  bustle  ; 

*  My  treatment  from  my  foe  not  over-nice, 

'  Just  made  a  jest  for  every  shrimp  and  muscle  : 
"  A  pretty  trick  for  one  of  my  dominion  ! 

*  My  lords,  I  thank  you  for  your  great  opinion. 


124 


You  '11  say,  perhaps,  I  've  lost  one  game, 
'  And  bid  me  try  another — for  the  rubber — 

Permit  me  to  inform  you  all,  with  shame, 
i  That  you  're  a  set  of  knaves,  and  I'ma  lubber.' 


H. 


THE  BREWER'S  COACHMAN. 

(  TAYLOR.) 


.ONEST  William,  an  easy  and  good-natur'd  fel- 
low, 
Would  a  little  too  oft  get  a  little  too  mellow, 
Body  coachman  was  he  to  an  eminent  brewer- 
No  better  e'er  sat  on  a  box,  to  be  sure. 
His  coach  was  kept  clean,  and  no  mothers  or  nurses 
Took  that  care  of  their  babes  that  he  took  of  his 

horses. 
Me  had  these — ay,  and  fifty  good  qualities  more  ; 
But  the  business  of  tififiUng  could  ne'er  be  got  o'er  : 
So  his  master  effectually  mended  the  matter, 
By  hiring  a  man  who  drank  nothing  but  water. 
Now,  William,  says  he,  you  see  the  plain  case  ; 
Had  you  drank  as  he  does, you'd  kept  a  good  place. 
Drink  water!  quoth  William — had  all  men  done  so, 
You  'd  never  have  wanted  a  coachman,  I  trow. 
They  're  soakers,  like  me,  whom  you  load  with  re- 
proaches, 
That  enable  you  brewers  to  ride  in  your  coach' 


C 


REPARTEE. 

(swift.) 


R1ES  Sylvia  to  a  reverend  dean, 

What  reason  can  be  given, 
Since  marriage  is  a  holy  thing, 

That  there  are  none  in  heaven 
There  are  no  women,  he  replied. 

She  quick  returns  the  jest — 
Women  there  are,  but  I  'm  afraid 

They  cannot  find  a  priest. 


125 
CURIOSITY. 

(PINDAK.) 

W  ALKING  one  afternoon  along  the  strand, 
My  wond'ring  eyes  did  suddenly  expand 

Upon  a  pretty  leash  of  country  lasses. 
"  Heav'ns  I  my  dear  beauteous  angels,  how  d'ye  do  ? 

"  Upon  my  soul,  I'm  monstrous  glad  to  see  ye." 
-"  Swinge  !  Peter  we  are  glad  to  meet  with  you ; 

<*  We  're  just  to  London  come — well,  pray,  how 
be  ye  ? 

"  We  're  just  a  going,  while  'tis  light, 

"  To  see  St.  Paul's,  before  'tis  dark. 
vi  Lord  !  come — for  once,  be  so  polite, 

"  And  condescend  to  be  our  spark." 

k*  With  all  my  heart,  my  angels." — On  we  walk'd, 
And  much  of  London — much  of  Cornwall  talk'd  : 

Now  did  I  hug  myself,  to  think 
How  much  that  glorious  structure  would  surprise — 

How  from  its  awful  grandeur  they  would  shrink, 
With  open  mouths,  and  marv'ling  eyes  ! 

As  near  to  Ludgate-hill  we  drew, 

St.  Paul's  just  op'ning  on  our  view  ; 

Behold,  my  lovely  strangers,  one  and  all, 

Gave,  all  at  once,  a  diabolic  squall, 

As  if  they  had  been  tumbled  on  the  stones, 

And  some  confounded  cart  had  crush'd  their  bones. 

After  well  fright'ning  people  with  their  cries, 
And  sticking  to  a  ribbon  shop  their  eyes — 
They  all  rush'd  in,  with  sounds  enough  to  stun — 
And  clatt'ring  all  together,  thus  begun. 

"  Swinge  !  here  are  colours  then  to  please  ! 
"  Delightful  things,  I  vow  to  Heav'n  I 

m  2 


:•  :g  disappointed  husband. 

*  Why !  not  to  see  such  things  as  these, 
"  We  never  should  have  been  forgiv'n. 

"  Here,  here,  are  clever  things — good  Lord  ! 

"  And,  sister,  here,  upon  my  word — 
u  Here,  here  !  look  !  here  are  beauties  to  delight ; 

"  Why  !  how  a  body's  heels  might  dance 

"  Along,  from  Launceston  to  Penzance, 
rt  Before  that  one  might  meet  with  such  a  sight !" 

<;  Come,  ladies,  't  will  be  dark,"  cry'd  I — "  I  fear ; 

"  Pray,  let  us  view  St.  Paul's,  it  is  so  near" — 

"  Lord !  Peter,  (cry'd  the  girls)  do  n't  mind  St.  Paul ! 

'*  Sure  !  you  're  a  most  incurious  soul — 

"  Why,  we  can  see  the  church  another  day : 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  St.  Paul's  can't  run  away." 


DISAPPOINTED  HUSBAND. 

ix  SCOLDING  wife  so  long  a  sleep  possess'd, 
I  ler  spouse  presum'd  her  soul  was  now  at  rest ; 
Sable  was  call'd  to  hang  the  room  with  black, 
And  all  their  cheer  was  sugar,  rolls  and  sack. 
Two  mourning  staffs  stood  sentry  at  the  door, 
And  silence  reign'd,  who  ne'er  was  there  before  ; 
The  cloaks,  and  tears,  and  handkerchiefs  prepar'd, 
They  march'd  in  woeful  pomp  to  the  church-yard? 
When  see,  of  narrow  streets,  what  mischiefs  come  ! 
The  very  dead  can't  pass  in  quiet  home ; 
By  some  rude  jolt  the  coffin  lid  was  broke, 
And  madam  from  her  dream  of  death  awoke. 

Now  all  was  spoil'd  !  the  undertaker's  pay, 
Sour  faces,  cakes  and  wine  quite  thrown  away. 
But  some  years  after,  when  the  former  scene 
Was  acted,  and  the  coffin  nail'd  again  ; 
The  tender  husband  took  especial  care 
To  keep  the  passage  from  disturbance  clear  ; 
Charging  the  bearers  that  they  tread  aright, 
Nor  put  his  dear  in  such  another  fright! 


ODE  TO  A  MARGATE  HOY 

(PINDAR.) 

Great  is  the  loss  of  gentlefolks  from  Wapping, 
Who,  fond  of  travel,  unto  Margate  roam, 
To  gain  that  consequence  they  want  at  home. 

At  Margate  how  like  quality  they  strut  ! 

Nothing  is  good  enough  to  greet  their  jaws; 
Yet,  when  at  home,  are  often  forced,  God  wot, 

To  suck  like  bears  a  dinner  from  their  paws — 

Forc'd  on  an  old  joint-stool  their  tea  to  take, 
With  treacle  'stead  of  sugar  for  their  gums; 

Butt'ring  their  hungry  loaf,  or  oaten  cake, 

Like    nighty    Charles    of    Sweden,    with    their 
thumbs. 

But  Hoy,  inform  me — who  is  she — on  board, 
That  seems  the  lady  of  a  first-rate  Lord, 
With  stomach  high  push'd  forth  as  if  in  scorn, 
Like  craws  of  ducks  and   geese  o'ercharged  with 
corn — 

Dress'd  in  a  glaring,  gorgeous  damask  gown, 
Which,  roses,  like  the  leaves  of  cabbage,  crown  , 
With  also  a  bright  petticoat  of  pink, 
To  make  the  eye  from  such  a  lustre  shrink  ? 

Yes,  who  is  she  the  Patagonian  dame, 
As  bulky  as  of  Heideldberg  the  tun  ; 

Her  face,  as  if  by  brandy  taught  to  flame, 
In  blaze  superior  to  the  noonday  sun — 

With  fingers  just  like  sausages,  fat  things  ; 
And  loaded  much  like  curtain  rods  with  rings  ? 
Yes,  who  is  the  that  with  a  squinting  eye 
Surveys  poor  passengers  that  sick'ning  sigh ; 
Sad,  pale-nos'd,  gaping,  puling,  mournful  faces. 
Deserted  by  the  blooming  smiling  graces  ; 


128  ODE  TO  A  MARCxATE  HOY. 

That,  reaching  o'er  thy  side,  so  doleful  throw 
The  stomach's  treasure  to  the  fish  below  ? 

'Tis  Madam  Bacon,  proud  of  worldly  goods, 

Whose  first  spouse  shav'd  and  bled — drew  teeth, 
made  wigs ; 

Who,  having  by  her  tongue  destroy'd  poor  Suds, 
Married  a  wight  that  educated  pigs  I 

But  hark  !  she  speaks  !  extremely  like  a  man! 
Raising  a  furious  tempest  with  her  fan — 

"  Why,  captain,  what  a  beastly  ship !  good  God  ! 
"  Why,  captain,  this  indeed  is  very  odd  ! 
li  Why,  what  a  grunting  dirty  pack  of  doings ! 
"  For  heaven's   sake,   captain,   stop  the   creatures' 
sp gs." 

Now  hark !  the  captain  answers — "  Mistress  Bacon, 
u  I  own  I  can't  be  with  such  matters  taken  ; 

"  I  likes  not  vomitings  no  more  than  you  ; 
"  But  if  so  be  that  gentlefolks  be  sick, 
"  A  woman  hath  the  bowels  of  Old  Nick, 

"  Poor  souls,  to  bung  their  mouths— 't  were  like 
a  Jew." 


Majestic  Mistress  Bacon  speaks  agen ! — 

"  Folks  have  no  bus'ness  to  make  others  sick : 

"  I  don't  know,  Mister  captain,  what  you  mean 
"  About  your  Jews,  and  bowels  of  Old  Nick : 

"  If  all  your  cattle  will  such  hubbub  keep, 

"  I  know  that  I  shall  leave  your  stinking  ship. 

M  Some  folks  have  dev'lish  dainty  guts,  good  Lord  I 
"  What  bus'ness  have  such  cattle  here  aboard  ? 
"  Such  gang  indeed  to  foreign  places  roam  ! 
"  'Tis  more  becoming  them  to  sp-w  at  home." 

But  hark  !  the  captain  /iro/ierly  replies — 

"  Why,  what  a  breeze  is  here,  G-d  d-mn  my  eyes  I 


THE  BOY  AND  THE  BAKER.  129 

'*  God  bless  us,  Mistress  Bacon  !  who  are  you  ? 
u  Zounds,  Ma'am^   I   say,    my   passengers    shah 


THE  BOY  AND  THE  BAKER. 

(c.  I.   PITT.) 

V/NCE,  when  monopoly  had  made 

As  bad  as  now  the  eating  trade, 

A  boy  went  to  a  baker's  shop, 

His  gnawing  appetite  to  stop : 

A  loaf  for  tvoo-pence  there  demanded, 

And  down  a  timj  loaf  was  handed. 

The  boy  survey'd  it  round  and  round, 

With  many  a  shrug,  and  look  profound : 

At  length — "  Why,  master,"  said  the  wight, 

"  This  loaf  is  very,  very  light  /" 

The  baker,  his  complaint  to  parry, 
Replied,  with  look  most  archly  dry, 
While  quirk  conceit  sat  squinting  on  his  eye — 

"  Light,  boy  ?  then  you  've  the  less  to  carry  /" 

The  boy  grinn'd  plaudits  to  his  joke, 
And  on  the  counter  laid  down  rhino, 

With  mien,  that  plainly  all  but  spoke — 
"  With  you  I  '11  soon  be  even,  I  know." 

Then  took  his  loaf,  and  went  his  way  ; 
But  soon  the  baker  bawl'd  him  back — 
u  You  've  laid  down  but  three  half-jience  Jack ! 
"  And  two-pence  was  the  loaf's  amount. 
How  's  this,  you  cheating  rascal,  hey  .?" — 

"  Sir,"  says  the  boy,  "  you've  less  to  count  1" 

Thus  modern  wits  against  each  other  fight, 
In  point  deficient,  and  in  substance  light ; 
But  so  profuse  and  ponderous  are  their  stores, 
To  count  or  carry,  strength  and  patience  bores  I 


Y. 


130 
THE  OLD  CHEESE^ 

(king.) 


OUXG  Slouch  the  farmer  had  a  jolly  wife, 
That  knew  all  the  conveniences  of  life, 
Whose  diligence  and  cleanliness  supplied 
The  wit  which  nature  had  to  him  denied  : 
But  then  she  had  a  tongue  that  would  be  heard, 
And  make  a  better  man  than  Slouch  afeard. 
This  made  censorious  persons  of  the  town 
Say,  Slouch  could  hardly  call  his  soul  his  own  ; 
For,  if  he  went  abroad  too  much,  she  'd  use 
To  give  him  slippers  and  lock  up  his  shoes. 
Talking  he  lov'd,  and  ne'er  was  more  afflicted 
Than  when  he  was  disturb'd  or  contradicted ; 
Yet  still  into  his  story  she  would  break 
With — "  'Tis  not  so  ;  pray  give  me  leave  to  speak/' 
His  friends  thought  this  was  a  tyrannic  rule, 
Not  difl  'ring  much  from  calling  of  him  fool ; 
Told  him  he  must  exert  himself,  and  be 
In  fact  the  nlaster  of  his  family. 

He  said,  "  That  the  next  Tuesday  noon  would  shew 
u  Whether  he  were  the  lord  at  home  or  no  ; 
u  When  their  good  company  he  would  entreat 
"  To  weli-brew'd  ale,  and  clean  if  homely  meat." 

With  aching  heart  home  to  his  wife  he  goes, 
And  on  his  knees  does  his  rash  act  disclose  ; 
And  prays  dear  Sukey,  that  one  day  at  least, 
He  might  appear  as  master  of  the  feast. 
"  I  '11  grant  your  wish,"  cries  she,  "  that  you  may  see 
"  'Twere  wisdom  to  be  govern'd  still  by  me." 

The  guests  upon  the  day  appointed  came, 
Each  bowsy  farmer  with  his  simp'ring  dame. 
"  Ho,  Sue  !"  cries  Slouch,  "  why  dost  not  thou  ap- 
pear ? 
"  Are  these  thy  manners  when  aunt  Snap  is  here  ?'* 


THE  OLD  CHEESE  131 

"  I  pardon  ask,"  says  Sue  ;  "  1 'd  not  offend 
"  Any  my  dear  invites,  much  less  his  friend." 

Slouch  by  his  kinsman  Gruffy  had  been  taught 

To  entertain  his  friends  by  finding  fault, 

And  make  the  main  ingredient  of  his  treat 

His  saying — "  There  was  nothing  fit  to  eat : 

"  The  boil'd  pork  stinks,  the  roast  beef's  not  enough, 

u  The  bacon 's  rusty,  and  the  hens  are  tough  ; 

"  The  veal 's  all  rags,  the  butter  's  turn'd  to  oil ; 

"  And  thus  I  buy  good  meat  for  sluts  to  spoil. 

u  'T  is  we  are  the  first  Slouches  ever  sat 

"  Down  to  a  pudding  without  plumbs  or  fat. 

"  What  teeth  or  stomach  's  strong  enough  to  feed 

"  Upon  a  goose  my  grannum  kept  to  breed  ? 

"  Why  must  old  pigeons,  and  they  stale  be  drest, 

*v  When  there  's  so  many  squab  ones  in  the  nest  ? 

u  This  beer  is  sour ;  't  is  musty,  thick,  and  stale, 

"  And  worse  than  any  thing  except  the  ale." 


Sue  all  this  while  many  excuses  made : 
Some  things  she  own'd  ;  at  other  times  she 
The  fault  on  chance,  but  oft'ner  on  the  maid 


e  laid    L 

id.     | 


Then  cheese  was  brought.  Says  Slouch — "  This  e'en 

shall  roll ; 
"  I  'm  sure  't  is  hard  enough  to  make  a  bowl : 
"  This  is  skim-milk,  and  therefore  it  shall  go; 
kt  And  this,  because  't  is  Suffolk,  follow  too." 

But  now  Sue's  patience  did  begin  to  waste  ; 

Nor  longer  could  dissimulation  last. 

"  Pray  let  me  rise,"  says  Sue,  "my  dear  ;  I  '11  find 

"  A  cheese  perhaps  may  be  to  lovy's  mind." 

Then  in  an  entry  standing  close,  where  he 

Alone,  and  none  of  all  his  friends,  might  see  ; 

And  brandishing  a  cudgel  he  had  felt, 

And  far  enough  on  this  occasion  smelt — 

"  I  '11  try,  my  joy,"  she  cried,  "  if  I  can  please 

"My  dearest  with  a  taste  of  his  old  cheese  1" 


132 

Slouch  turn'd*  his  head,  saw  his  wife's  vigorous  hand, 
Wielding  her  oaken  sapling  of  command, 
Knew  well  the  twang — "  Is 't  the  old  cheese  my" 

dear  ?" 
"  No  need,  no  need  of  cheese,"  cries  Slouch  «  I  '11 

swear, 
"  I  think  I  've  din'd  as  well  as  my  lord  mayor !" 


EPIGRAM. 

(port  folio.) 

A.  STINGY  fellow,  'tis  no  matter  who, 
Had,  u  once  upon  a  time,"  some  work  to  do  ; 
He  told  a  man,  they  called  him  Sam,  I  think, 
That  if  he  'd  do  this  job,  he  'd  give  him  drink, 
Such  as  could  not  in  any  place  be  sold, 
For  it  was  then  exactly  ten  years  old. 
The  work  is  done,  the  miser  gives  the  dram, 
"  How  old  do  you  call  dis  Massa,  says  poor  Sam, 
"  Ten  years  exactly," — "  Ten  years  1"  in  a  rage 
Says  Sam,  "  He  be  damn  little  of  his  age." 


A  COLLEGE  STORY. 

(freseau.) 

J\.  SON  of  a  college  for  science  renowned, 
W  ho  long  had  been  reading  and  reading,  and  reading 
Huge  volumes  as  dry  as  the  deserts  of  Zaara, 
\\  ith  abstinence  much,  and  little  good  feeding, 
At  length  became  fond  of  a  glass  of  Madeira, 
Beer,  brandy,  or  porter — whatever  was  found  : 

One  Saturday  evening,  when  socially  met 
With  friends  to  his  liking,  called  fellows  of  college. 
Each  drank  off'  his  toast  in  a  bumper  of  wine 
'Till  mirth  had  the  better  of  reason  and  knowledge  : 


THE  ANT  AND  THE  GRASSHOPPER.  ISo 

This  orderly,  decent,  exemplary  set 
Then  talked  away  cheerly  'till  two  of  the  clock,' 
'Till  their  eyes,  like  the  eyes  of  old  Moses,  did  shine 
When  he  came  from  the  mount,  and  the  cliffs  of  his 

rock, 
At  the  sins  of  the  people  to  fume  and  to  fret. 

Now  the  bell  striking  three,  they  agreed  to  adjourn ; 
Each  bound  to  his  lodging  by  different  roads ; 
But  the  son  of  the  college  by  quaffing  too  much, 
Lost  his  path,  and  got  into  the  dead  men's  abodes  ; 
Where  Irish  and  English,  Columbians  and  Dutch 
Had  agreed  to  lie  down,  without  quarrels  or  feuds. 

He  stumbled  and  tumbled,  stubbed  toes,  broke  his 

shins, 
And  next  with  a  head-stone  disabled  his  head ; 
Though  the  night  was  as  dark  as  in  Egypt  of  old 
He  discovered,  at  last  he  had  got  with  the  dead  ; 
There  jammed  like  a  wedge  by  a  couple  of  tombs, 
An  effort  he  made  to  dislodge — but  in  vain ; 
Old  Bacchus  had  stowed  him  so  snug  in  his  bed, 
That  the  church  might  as  soon  have  been  raised  up 

again. 
WThen  thus  the  poor  fellow  was  heard  with  a  groan 
To  say,  as  he  lay  by  strong  liquor  oppressed, 
Well,  well,  I  sup /lose  if  they  let  me  alone 
In  time,  I  may  chance  to  get  up  with  the  rest. 


THE  ANT  AND  THE  GRASSHOPPER. 

A  GRASSHOPPER  had  chaunted  it  away, 

Each  summer's  day : 
Now  that  cold  weather  was  set  in, 
Began  to  look  most  piteous  thin. 
Away  she  hopp'd  to  see  her  neighbour  th'  ant, 
And  begg'd  some  small  relief  she  'd  grant 

N 


134  THE  PEASANT  AND  HIS  ASS 

From  her  abundant  store  ; 

Or  else,  e'er  half  the  winter  o'er, 

She  needs  must  die  for  want ; 

And  faith  and  troth  she  swore 

The  loan  with  int'rest  to  restore 

By  autumn  next — if  not  before. 

Your  ants  they  never  lend  on  trust: 

Our  housewife  was  devout  as  well  as  just ; 

T'  encourage  sloth  she  held  a  crime. 

How  did  you  spend,  quoth  she,  the  harvest  time  I 

And  please  you,  night  and  day  I  tun'd  my  song 

T'  amuse  the  travellers  that  pass'd  along. 

Oh,  ho  !  and  so  you  sung  the  summer  out : 

Yes,  Ma'am.    Why  that  was  wond'rous  wise  ! 

And  now  that  winter's  come,  might  I  advise 

E'en  dance  about ; 
You  '11  have  at  least,  the  comfort  for  't, 
To  've  led  a  merry  life,  though  short. 


THE  PEASANT  AND  HIS  ASS. 

x\.S  on  the  road  a  peasant  drove  his  ass, 

He  spi'd  a  meadow  rich  in  grass ; 

And  tho'  he  had  no  right  to  do  it, 

He  dar'd  the  pound,  and  turn'd  the  beast  into  it 

The  jack-ass,  charm'd  at  such  a  treat, 
With  choice  to  crop  and  time  to  eat, 

Graz'd  here  and  there  the  field  all  over, 
Then  prane'd  and  rear'd  and  toss'd  his  head. 
And  in  the  thick  on't  made  his  bed, 

Like  one  that 's  nurs'd  in  clover. 

Amidst  this  jubilee  the  foe  appears  ; 
The  clown  cries  out,  Haste,  haste  away  ! 

At  which  our  ass  prick'd  up  his  ears, 
And  bray'd,  No  friend,  I  choose  to  stay : 

Will  those  folks  load  a  double  pack 
Upon  my  back  ? 


THE  INDIAN  CONVERT.  13. 


Why,  no. — Then  what  is  it  to  me, 

If  I  belong  to  them  or  thee  ? 
You  may  by  flight  your  freedom  save, 

If  you  disdain  to  be  a  slave. 
For  me  it  is  no  new  disaster  ; 

Nor  do  I  know 
The  thing  that  I  can  call  my  foe, 
Except  my  master. 


THE  INDIAN  CONVERT. 

(freneau.) 


A 


N  Indian,  who  lived  at  Muskingum  remote, 
Was  teazed  by  a  parson  to  join  his  dear  flock, 
To  throw  off  his  blanket  and  put  on  a  coat , 
And  of  grace  and  religion  to  lay  in  a  slock. 

The  Indian  long  slighted  an  offer  so  fair, 

Preferring  to  preaching  his  fishing  and  fowling; 

A  sermon  to  him  was  a  heart  full  of  care, 
And  singing  but  little  superior  to  howling. 

At  last  by  persuasion  and  constant  harassing 
Our  Indian  was  brought  to  consent  to  be  good; 

He  saw  that  the  malice  of  Satan  was  pressing, 
And  the  means  to  repel  him  not  yet  understood. 

Of  heaven,  one  day  when  the  parson  was  speaking, 
And  painting  the  beautiful  things  of  the  place, 

The  convert,  who  something  substantial  was  seeking, 
Rose  up  and  confessed  he  had  doubts  in  the  case — 

Said  he  Master  JVEnister,  this  place  that  you  talk  of, 
Of  things  for  the  stomach,  pray  what  has  it  got ; 

Has  it  liquors  in  plenty  ? — If  so  I  '11  soon  walk  off 
And  put  myself  down  in  the  heavenly  spot. 


136  THE  CLOWN'S  REPLY. 

You  fool  (said  the  preacher)  no  liquors  are  there  . 

The  place  I  'm  describing  is  most  like  our  meeting. 
Good  people,  all  singing,  with  preaching  and  prayer  ; 

They  live  upon  these  without  eating  or  drinking. 

But  the  doors  are  all  locked  against  folks  that  are 
wicked  ; 

And  you,  I  am  fearful,  will  never  get  there ; — 
A  life  of  repentence  must  purchase  the  ticket, 

And  few  of  you,  Indians,  can  buy  it,  I  fear. 

Farewel  (said  the  Indian)  I  'm  none  of  your  mess ; 

On  victuals,  so  airy,  I  faintish  should  feel, 
I  cannot  consent  to  be  lodged  in  a  place 

Where  there  '.s  nothing  to  eat  and  but  little  to  steal. 


THE  CLOWN'S  REPLY. 

(goldsmith.) 

J  OHN  Trott  was  desir'd  by  two  witty  peers, 
To  tell  them  the  reason  why  Asses  had  ears  ? 
"  An't  please  you,"  quoth  John,  "  I  'm  not  given  to 

letters, 
u  Nor  dare  I  pretend  to  know  more  than  my  betters  ; 
"  Howe'er  from  this  time  I  shall  ne'er  see  your  graces, 
"  As  I  hope  to  be  sav'd!  without  thinking  on  asses!" 


THE  END 


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